Loki is Johnlocked
by MethuselahPixie
Summary: John and Sherlock adopted a child to make their partnership - marriage, whatever they call it - founded. That was nine years ago. A baby found cast away in the cold, like so many others. What makes this boy so special? And why is Loki back on earth?
1. Like Father like Son

The wind whipped outside. The windows rattled, the curtains shivered. In the thick of the warm room cracks of cold crawled on their bellies from beneath the doors and floorboards. Their ominous creak approached a figure. Whirling, the small figure's dark hair flew. He grabbed his book from a sliver of moonlight and slid behind a table, pulling a blanket over his head. In his chest, his heart pounded, his breath pushing dust balls along the hardwood. Silent praying could not save him, though, and his dread mounted as a warm, deep voice wafted through the room from directly above him.

"Hamish," it said gently, removing the blanket from the figure's face. Crystal blue eyes met one another. "It's far too late to be reading." Sherlock reached out and gathered the boy in his slender arms, reaching next for the book he had been reading. His dark robe pulled back and the pale arm came forth to gather the fragile pages delicately.

The nine year old squirmed, pouting in his arms, but settled against his shoulder upon realizing the futility of his struggle. "Father, I was just going to finish a chapter," he whined grudgingly. He was pale as the moon, and thin for his age, but his blue eyes were bright and so full of life.

Sherlock tut-tutted at the small boy, his calculating look sweeping the book, and then the child. "At this hour? Morning light is much more attractive for reading." With long, sweeping strides, barefoot, Sherlock returned the child to his room and set him among all his disheveled covers. "And if you don't make your bed in the morning, I'm sure daddy will be very angry."

Hamish scoffed. "You, you mean? I haven't seen John in ages." Sherlock marked Hamish's page and set the book aside. A darkness hung on his shoulders.

"Daddy won't be gone long." He turned, nimble fingers fixing the blankets around the boy, a firm look on his face. "If you get up once more, Hamish, I will not hesitate to tie you to your bedposts. Now goodnight." Hamish looked away, crossing his arms, but Sherlock took the boy's head in his hands and kissed the soft black hair. "My boy. Please sleep well."  
With that he was gone, a shadow in the night, and Hamish took his book and tucked it in beside him, turning over to stare out the window. He was coming. He could feel it.


	2. Flung Therethrough

The saying 'trapped like a rat' is such an overused, pestering figure of well-being. It was so abhorred, even, that just the thought of it brought bile into his throat. Shrugging his shoulders violently, he jerked his head. Black hair flew.

The night sky above him shone with the stars of a foreign galaxy. Here beneath the single pale moon lay a battered figure. A flash from the tesseract broke him from his chains and flung him through dimensions. He battled demons and pulled himself from ravines of living black blood that acted similarly to quick sand and endured monsoons of volcanic rock, only to tumble through the last portal into... this. A graveyard for garbage. Hills and mountains of plastic bags and rotting food.

Pushing to his feet, Loki dragged himself through the filth. He knocked aside milk jugs reeking with fermentation. His boots sank into garbage. It was disgusting. A far, far fall for a god. Not into death, but into shame. And for a saying, trapped like a rat seemed perfectly suiting for a god flung from power, defeated by the hands of arrogant heroes, put through the very pits of hell, and then brought back... almost in one piece. Only his pride had been ripped from him.

Hours he dragged his legs through that human scourge. Their waste. Their pathetic sludge. As the morning began to approach, he finally flung himself over the last hill and rolled onto solid earth. Cold, hard dirt met his shoulder, and he managed to stop himself at the foot of a large metal box. A cry from inside roused his attention, but he was wounded, torn, damaged and exhausted, on the verge of losing consciousness. He panted vile air as a creature in an orange vest burst from the metal box, and bent over him, flipping out a small device and talking into it very, very loudly. With a groan, Loki tried to get up and failed, his arms giving out on him. He lay flat out on the ground, on his stomach, breathing in the dust instead of the filth. Darkness sucked him in. The human in the vest grabbed him and shook him, but it was too late. He was already out cold.


	3. A Mournful Husband

John had been gone around two weeks now, called away on urgent family business. Harry was sick – very sick. Some sort of act from her escapades trying to get a new girlfriend had landed her with this disease. She had AIDs, as far as Sherlock knew, the incurable kind. It was tragic. Terrible. And Sherlock had wanted dearly to go with his husband and be by his side to defend him from any hostilities, especially from other doctors and funeral directors, the cold bastards. But John had refused his help. He hadn't wanted Hamish to see him like this. There was no bringing Sherlock without Hamish, and there was no bringing Hamish around the death of an aunt he had never met before, let alone knew the sexual orientation of. So, John had gotten on the train and left, with his heart spiraling into darkness. A darkness Sherlock knew well… and one he hated to see surrounding his love.

Head in his hands, Sherlock heaved a sigh and sniffed. He had hardly been separated long enough from John to incite such emotion. The loneliness was far more crushing than he'd ever imagined. Single parents must be as empty and lonely as he, only more so, seeing as John would be back and their love never would. He dried his eyes. Dear John. Strong, solid, on the outside. So fragile in select places – shattered in one. Who was there to pick up the pieces? To surround him with warmth each night after his trials and trepidations? No one; that was who. His family was all scrambling for pride in the coming death of an estranged and immoral child. No one would look after strong, soldier John. No one.

The echoes of morning drew him from his chambers. He showered and dressed before Hamish arose. The water soaked him through. The towel wiped away his red eyes and shaky hands. He was crisp, he was together, and he was cool. He made breakfast. The wafting smell of eggs and French toast filled the small apartment. No bacon; far too fatty for a young boy, let alone a man in his late thirties. As he filled plates and set out tea the shuffling feet of his child was still missing. Frowning, he fixed the dishes and put them aside, heading to Hamish's room. He knocked on the door twice. "Hamish?" He called. "You'll miss the bus." He opened the door after a moment of no answer, and went to Hamish's bedside. The boy was reading, in his wrinkled nightclothes. Sherlock smiled. "Come, take the book along with you."

Hamish looked up at him, smiling. "Really, father?" Sherlock nodded gently. Hamish hugged him and quickly bustled out of bed. He hastily packed his backpack and grabbed Sherlock's hand. "Come on, breakfast, quick, I'll miss the bus!" Chuckling, his father followed him inside, and Hamish regaled him with tales of the schoolchildren and their lack of education. "No one likes books father!" He exclaimed. "It's horrid!" After much fussing, a bath and clean clothes, Sherlock stood in the doorway as Hamish ran down the block to the bus, waving his arms wildly. Watching him go was almost like watching himself run off to classes – diving into a world of history and mathematics, eager and hungry for knowledge of everything and everyone. And a lack of connection to the other children. Sherlock went back inside and shut the door. Hopefully Hamish was like John in that factor – where he was simple at heart, at least.


	4. Comatose Conflict

The air was so… sterile. It made him cough, dragging him from his exhausted slumber. His eyes opened into slits and gazed, painfully, at the bright lights and intense white everywhere. Was he dead? How could he have managed to get to heaven? His heart ached. 'Thor, brother… what did I do to us, to our family…?' He felt a cloud of guilt in his chest and cast it off. He knew he would never be able to have a throne now, in death. What kind of death was that for a god? What afterlife lay there for him? Was this truly heaven, or was he banished somewhere else entirely? Somewhere only for the desolate? He did not know. Only that his arm pricked, and he was sure the afterlife did not have arm-prickers.

Looking down, he saw he was hooked to a tube, which held a bag of clear fluid. Truth serum, probably. He saw he was in a bed, a small bed, with white blankets over his body. He was entirely unclothed save for one flimsy gown. The god blinked. Who in blazes had undressed him? Furious, he searched for the conspirator in the room and saw no one. There was a curtain between him and the other half of the room, where he heard soft breathing. He wanted to scream. Not dead, but confined! Where? Who had found and captured him?

The door creaked open and he looked up sharply. There, in the doorway, was a human in scrubs covered in Tweedy Bird. She carried a clipboard and a small tote basket full of bottles and needles as she moved casually into the room, moving to push back the curtain. When she did Loki glanced over at who was behind it. A male human. Very young. He appeared to be dying. The screens he was hooked up to were all in red, and very weak. He was pale, with tubes in his nose and throat. Strange. Were they killing him? Or was he simply dying on his own? The nurse brushed his hair, fluffed his pillows, and moved on to move each limb and massage life back into it. This was a strange motion to Loki. What was all this?

The nurse finished her strange ritual by kissing the small boy on the forehead and retreating again, drawing the curtain back again. When she turned to see her next comatose patient and saw Loki sitting up and squinting at her very quizzically, she yelped and almost flung her basket.

"Sir!" She gasped. "You're awake!"

Loki gave her a look. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Her brown eyes were wide. "Well, the doctor said you were very injured. Your body shut down to heal – he thought you'd be in a coma for months!"

"How long has it been?" He demanded.

"T-Two days!" She stammered.

A Cheshire grin curled onto his lips. "Then I am still among the humans." They must've taken him in, not knowing who or what he was, and treated him! The poor souls. He looked down at himself, checking over his pale arms. No bruises, no scratches; that's where he fended off one of the demons. Totally healed. He looked back up at the nurse. He was an Asgardian. They were practically super beings to these creatures.

"Tell me," he chuckled. "What day is it?"

"November, sir," the nurse managed. "November 15th."


	5. Childhood Homophobia

Hamish was jostled on the bus, pushed around and laughed at, but he snapped back and sat down, talking in a quiet voice to one of his friends. They giggled and exchanged homework, checking their answers. The city of London flew by, buildings and people and double decker buses, and Hamish gazed out into the streets. So many people. Where, he wondered, was his other daddy? The bus drove a good while through the streets to a private school, gated and all. It lurched to a stop and they all gathered their things and shuffled off.

Wandering the halls, Hamish went to sit down in his first class and his desk was surrounded by other kids. "Yes?" He asked politely, as trained by his fathers. Can I help you?"

"I saw you on TV," a boy piped up. "Your dad is the famous Sherlock Holmes!"

"Yeah," said another. "You're their kid – him and the doctor! You're the one with TWO dads!" That made them all laugh, and Hamish looked at them quizzically.

"And what's that got to do with anything?" He asked innocently. "They're good to me. I like both of them."

"Not only is he adopted," another said, shoving Hamish. "But his parents are BOTH faggots!"

Hamish stumbled back, paling. He was humiliated. He loved his fathers, who could say something like that? Why would anyone be so cruel? In his chest, his heart throbbed with anguish. His eyes blurred and tears streaked down his cheeks as he turned and ran from the room, retreating down the now-empty halls. He shoved into the boys' room and locked himself in a stall, curling up on a toilet seat and gathering his knees to his chest. Why? Why did they have to be like that? He loved his daddy's, both of them. And he hadn't seen one in weeks, where was he? His daddy John… He wanted him to come home, now… He buried his face in his arms and sobbed. He didn't understand. That word, why would they use that word? It was terrible… and so were they…


	6. Ticket to Anywhere but Here

Contrary to what it seemed, Loki decided to play dumb for a while. He told no one his name and said he'd forgotten, claiming amnesia, and sat around watching TV all day like everyone else. He knew all these people saw him as strange, even if he was pretending to be average. But he didn't care about that now. He needed to know what was going on now. He needed to get resources. He needed a plan. The hapless soaps and political arguments were of no interest to him. Humans did not interest him. He scoffed as he changed channels, and the other patients around him chuckled. They'd moved him away from the child, and replaced with another comatose patient. Now he was surrounded by the wrinkled ones – who seemed more hallucinations than wisdom. The elders were so useless here.

The news came on. 'Rubbish,' he thought, but paused. There was a flash of black hair that looked familiar. A head bobbed between two men who looked… married? What was that? He grimaced, but continued watching. A sandy blond and a tall man with a head of dark curls. Not black, though, and straight, like the smaller boy's hair. Loki's heart stammered. The camera tripped, and the boy turned, and his face made Loki freeze in his tracks. That face, those eyes! He dropped the remote and stared, all color draining from his face. No. Not possible. How…?! It wasn't possible! She said she'd… She'd…

Pushing away the covers, Loki got up and removed the IV from his arm. He untangled himself from the blankets, and a nurse ran to him. "Get back into bed, sir, you aren't fully healed!" She cried. His jade eyes burned with fire as he whirled on her. "I have no time for your prattle," he boomed. "Where are my garments?!" She shrank back and pointed to a cabinet. He went to it and grabbed his things, whirling from the room like a hurricane. He found his old room and locked himself in, stripping off the hospital gown and redressing in his clothes. Every part of him ached, and he knew his body was still damaged, but it would heal with or without the human's care. He went to the only window in the room and kicked it open. Pounding on the door began, and he turned one last time to see the boy in a coma. His heart throbbed with something, something so deep and dark that it pained him, and he leaped from the window and vanished into broad daylight.


	7. Together Again

That evening, John came home. Sherlock opened the door to see the doctor climbing out of the taxi slowly. His heart stuttered and took off as he stepped off the porch and helped him draw his baggage back inside. Eager hands assisted, loving glances were exchanged. They clunked the suitcases up the stairs, both silent, and John paid the cabbie. When he shut the door Sherlock turned as John faced him, and he reached out, grasping John's arms. He caught his gaze, looking at his weathered face. "I'm so sorry, John," he said softly, and the army man nodded. His eyes were red and swollen. His attitude, edgy.

After helping him unpack, Sherlock observing him all the while, John sat down on the end of the bed and stared at his shoes. Sherlock put the last jumper away and pushed aside the empty cases. He sat beside John and put an arm around his shoulders. Drawing him near, he sighed gently. "It's lovely to have you back, you know." He said. "Hamish quite misses you. He'll be thrilled you're home."

John's lips curled into a sad smile. "Perhaps we'll pick him up from school today. I need to see him, sooner than later." He sat up and smiled at Sherlock. "I've missed being home." Sherlock smiled at him in return and they sat quietly together for a moment, soaking up the company. John explained that Harriet was dying. She had less than a month left. But, she had sent him home to be with his family. He would go back when the week drew near, and bring Hamish this time. She wanted to meet him before...

Sherlock gave John a hanker chief and went and made him tea. When he came back, John was up and about, changed and ready to go get Hamish. Sherlock could feel his tension, the bottling up of all his emotion. He obviously had just about run out of tears, but not quite. And of course, he didn't want to bawl in front of the boy. They borrowed Mrs. Hudson's car and went to the school. When they went inside and went to the desk, they got laughter and friendly smiles, recognized from the tele. When they asked for their son out of class, they sent a message.

After twenty minutes of waiting, they began to get agitated. The staff sent another message, and then an aid down to check on the class, and they said they didn't have Hamish. As soon as the aid informed John and Sherlock, the latter was off like a rocket, scouring the school for clues. At once he located a back door propped open and John followed him out into the thick woods behind the school, yelling for their son.


	8. Roped In

The streets were darkening. The sidewalk was clustered with businessmen and women rushing to get home. The people passing close by gave him estranged looks, and he scowled at them, bearing them to get back. This was not what Loki had planned. He needed to get to the center of London, now. He needed to find them. Sherlock Holmes, and his lackey. But he had no transportation, no will, and no strength. He was very weak, and in that standard, he was close to the strength of a normal man with a cold. Only... not sick, of course.

This walking was ridiculous. It had been a few hours now, and Loki couldn't take another step. Picking a set of concrete steps leading to an abandoned home, he sank down and leaned against the thick wall, panting. He was too weak. No food or drink, no shelter, no supplies... he was lost on a foreign planet on another mission. He growled at the similarities. No power here. No resources. It was awful. He rubbed his face and looked dejectedly at his boots. In this armor, he stuck out like a sore thumb. If only he could blend...

A group of rambunctious teenagers passed. A large group, all laughing and yelling and dressed oddly, like they were going to a ritual. He wondered briefly if they were to be slaughtered. At any rate, they passed close by and he tried to be invisible. Their sweat and raw hormones stank. He made a face. From the sea of stink, a hand reached out and a figure stumbled from their midst. Loki looked up in alarm, having been spotted, to see a girl. She must've been at least twenty, with short-cropped yellow hair and a choker around her neck. She was soft looking and had the fragrance of bathing, with big brown eyes and a tight number making her look like a female Captain America, only in the form of a short dress. She had on red converse as well, which strangely, fit well.

She was all right looking he supposed, but the way she was ogling him made him uneasy. He crossed his arms and glanced away, looking back at her defensively. "What?" He asked sharply. She drew closer, and he shrank back. "You look terrible!" She said gently. "Are you lost?" He nodded involuntarily, and she waved to her friend, who stopped as the group raged on down the sidewalk. "Where do you live?" Loki sighed. "Far from here." She frowned. "That's no good. Well, where are you staying?" Loki shook his head. She put her hands on her hips. "Well I won't let you be alone out here - your costume is killer. We're going to a party, you should come with us." She smiled.

Loki looked up at her, actually cracking a smile. "You want me to go with you? To a ridiculous ritual dressed like one of your lot?" He almost laughed, it was so ridiculous. He was a god! Not an urchin! She felt his scorn and rolled her eyes. "Come on mister high and mighty," she said, grasping his wrists and drawing him off the porch. "It'll be fun. We'll take care of you, won't we, May?" Behind her, a redhead in an Iron Man dress smiled mischievously. Loki was stammering out a refusal, shocked she hadn't become insulted and left at once, but it was too late. She dragged him along with them, fixing his hair and adjusting his cape as they went.


	9. Lost Boy

John and Sherlock crashed through the trees. Sherlock traced footsteps and broken branches through the thick foliage, panting all the while, both their hearts racing. John cried out once more for their boy, his fear mounting on panic. They broke through the trees and stumbled onto a slab of concrete. A storage facility for fixing water pipes. Large concrete tubes were stacked everywhere, as were other bigger parts of the construction process.

"Hamish!" John shouted, and their hearts both lifted when they saw movement across the yard in one of the tubes. Hamish poked his head out from where he was hiding.

"Daddy!" He cried, and the two men shot like rockets. Hamish clambered out of the tube and ran to meet them, running straight into John's arms. "Daddy!" He said, and broke down into tears. "I missed you, daddy..."

John panted, holding the boy close, his arms around him tight. "Hamish, oh my god... What did you leave for?" Sherlock looked around the yard, out of breath. "The school, we looked everywhere for you." He added.

Hamish clung to John's jacket, sobbing. "They... They called you names, the boys did," he stammered. "They laughed at me, and said awful things."

"Oh, Hamish..." John said, his heart aching for the boy. He looked up at Sherlock, and they exchanged a look. Sherlock came over and kissed the boy's forehead. "Let daddy take care of it, all right?" Hamish looked up at him, eyes red and rimmed with tears. Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile. Hamish nodded a bit, and Sherlock bobbed a nod in return, vanishing back into the wood to the school.

John knelt down and looked him over, "You're not hurt are you? Everything feel fine?" Hamish nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. I'm all right. I just... I didn't know what to do, dad." He said in a pathetic voice. John's heart tore in two. He set his jaw, taking out a handkerchief and drying the boy's eyes gently. "Now come on, don't cry. Everything is fine. Don't worry about what they said, all right?" Hamish shook his head. "They were terrible. You and..." John took Hamish's face in his hands and the boy looked at him despondently, tears still slipping down his face. "Do not worry. Nothing they say changes anything," John said firmly. "We're a family and we love you. What people say doesn't matter. What they don't like they tend to be cruel towards. It's not you, its us."

Hamish sniffled, hugging John around the neck. John picked him up and held him close. "I know what they said hurt you," John whispered. "Its not your fault. They shouldn't be cruel to you." He let him down and dried his tears one last time. Hamish sniffed as they walked back together, hand in hand. "But why?" He asked curiously. "Why would they do that?" John sighed. "Because, your dad and me are different. Instead of a mother and a father, you have two dads. It unnerves people." He looked down at his son. "There's nothing wrong with us. It's only what people aren't used to."

Hamish shook his head as they walked. "Well I didn't want a mother anyway, so there." John laughed, and it echoed through the forest.


	10. His Keeper

Why, hello there. I'm the author of this lovely fanfiction. If you've made it this far, you're plenty welcome to review, and give me some feedback.

This was something I'm doing on deviantart, as Methuselah87, and on Facebook as well. It began on Facebook and thats where its born before it arrives here.

I love a good story.

Thank you for reading, I do hope you enjoy yourself.

* * *

The pound of the music was far too much. It made Loki's heart hurt, and his feet pound. He stumbled along behind the blond girl, Carolyn, his hand captured by her own and his ear being talked off by her friend, May. Some sort of computer be-bop was going on in the air. The normal lights had turned into flashing, colorful and blinding substitutes that were similar to blowing up a city. As they moved through the crunch of bodies and laughter Loki began to get dizzy. He was fading now, hungry and weak, and hardly made it to their booth. He was squeezed between a silent chap in dark sunglasses and Carolyn, May distracted - finally - by one of her other chums. Carolyn wrote on a napkin and asked him what he wanted to eat, and he just wrote back, 'Anything.' She ordered him two cheeseburgers and a coke.

'How did I end up here?' He wondered. 'Among all these lesser beings. Trapped by their kindness.' He shivered. Carolyn's warm smile made him feel a little less like he was floating. She was a calm rock in this chaos. She wrote on the napkin, 'The food will be here soon. What's your name?' He glanced at her. She had a button nose and rosy cheeks, not a drop of make-up on her face. With long legs and slender features, he was surprised she wasn't being hounded by the male humans. Maybe it was her severe lack of a chest.  
'Loki,' he wrote back. 'Thank you for your kindness. It was unnecessary.' As she read, he watched her smile and felt something strange in his chest. He shook his head. As soon as he got his strength, he promised himself, he was going after what he had intended in the first place, in leaving the hospital.

Carolyn pushed another message over to him on the napkin. Her face dappled with the bright rainbow lights, her hair also a transport for the ridiculous fluorescents in the room. She looked like she was made out of rainbows.  
'Sure it was. Why were you alone?'  
'I'm usually alone.'  
'But in the middle of the city?'  
'I was dropped off here... unintentionally. I'm lost.'  
'Where did you want to go?'  
He looked at her and met her curious eyes. He wondered briefly how he looked, so pasty and weak, covered in those lights.  
'The Center of London.' He pushed it back.  
'I live close by there. Why do you want to go there?'  
'I'm meeting someone there.'  
As she read this, she seemed to get a fidget to her shoulders, and her smile faded.  
'Who?'

With calm eyes, he took the pen and scrolled,  
'My son.'  
She looked at him them in surprise. His expression didn't change. Observing her, he watched as she took the pen back, her fingers brushing his own.  
'How old?'  
He looked away and felt a pang. How old was his son? How long ago did he love an Asgardian woman?  
'About ten years.'  
Carolyn was about to write a reply when his food arrived. She placed it in front of him, and he ate carefully, deliberately. She smiled then, putting the pad and paper away. Her friends went to dance, and they were left with the silent man in his sunglasses, observing the moshing and grinding chaos of downtown London.


	11. Unsure

When John and Hamish arrived at the school, Sherlock was in the front office. He walked out to meet them and they all went to the car. John opened the door for Hamish and made sure he was buckled before shutting the door and climbing into the drivers seat. Sherlock got in beside him and smiled back at Hamish, who smiled back gently.

"You took care of it?" John asked as he started the car.  
Sherlock nodded. "Those boys won't bother you anymore," he said to Hamish, looking at him in the rear-view mirror. "Their parents have been sufficiently scolded."  
Hamish blinked. "Their parents?"  
"Yes, dear boy. Whenever children act up, it is because their parents have done something amiss. The bad children, at any rate."  
John smiled as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Yes, good children act out because they want more cookies after dinner, then their parents handle the scolding."

Hamish giggled. On the way home, John spun tales of where Aunt Harriet lived, and the antics of his family. Even though he had a short while ago been on the verge of tears, with Hamish near, he was lively and all smiles. It was a breath of fresh air to see John so happy, let alone see him, after his two week absence. Sherlock watched him with admiration as they moved through the city, passing a rather loud couple of clubs.  
"Hamish," Sherlock said. "The next time you feel overwhelmed-"  
"Overwhelmed?" Hamish piped.

"It means that when you feel like you can't handle something. If you don't want to be at school, or anywhere, anymore."  
Hamish nodded. "All right."  
Sherlock returned the nod. "When you feel overwhelmed, phone me. I will take you home."  
Hamish took a good moment to think this over. Don't run, call. "Yes, sir."  
"Good lad," Sherlock said, and caught John smiling out of the corner of his eye.

They arrived home in the whipping wind. It had been so calm today - but lately, it seemed to be acting up. Hamish scrambled inside. Sherlock gave him his backpack and he went upstairs to read on the couch. Sherlock waited for John and they climbed the stairs together. They removed their coats and went about the hours. Sherlock went to the computer and John went to the kitchen to fix tea and order take-out. He sent a pad of paper around to take orders and paced the flat, phone cradled to his shoulder, rattling off orders. Sherlock checked his e-mail and read over a few new job offers. He scoured them thoroughly before choosing which he would and would not do. Then he put the computer aside and reached for the remote as Hamish turned a page in his book.

The tele blazed to life and Sherlock leaned forward, squinting as a picture flashed on screen.  
/"Police are saying a man shattered a window escaping Mid Town Hospital this morning,"/ the newscaster said. /"He leaped four stories and vanished into thin air. A search has been sent out, but when asked, staff in the hospital knew he wouldn't be found. No name, no pictures, all they had was memory and the picture drawn by a police artist."/  
The picture was hand drawn and sharp. It was of a man with long black hair and narrow features. Half his face looked hostile, the other half cold.

"That's my dad." Hamish piped.

John stepped out of the kitchen as Sherlock memorized the face and turned to his son. "What do you mean, Hamish?" John asked.  
"That man. He's my dad, too." Hamish said. "I dream about him. He wears a cape and has a brother who was in New York last month. The one with the hammer."

/Thor?/ John gaped. Sherlock recovered first. "Where is he now, Hamish?" The young boy went back to his book, shrugging. "I don't know exactly. Close. I think he was at one of the clubs we passed."

A silence stretched. John was about to explode. Then the doorbell rang. He snapped from his trance to go answer it, and Sherlock stared at Hamish as he went back to reading, as if nothing in the world was wrong.


	12. Anguishing Truth

Carolyn explained everything on the way to her car after the party. They left early, to get Loki home, and once he'd regained his strength to walk he was very, very tired. Looks like his godly healing wasn't back in full swing. But it would be soon, he hoped. They walked slowly, through the wind, seeing as he was still aching, and most of the fight had left him. He walked with his hands behind his back, his cape fluttering, glancing at her as she told him all about the city and her life. Her parents died when she was young, and her aunt was older, and had raised her to be a lady. But after she died, too, she was left to go to college all on her own.

She was twenty five, and looked twenty. Her smile lit up a room and she had a 3.9 GPA. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but after she complained about someone else having a 4.0, he assumed that was the highest. She was very smart.

A physicist. She loved physics, its idea and the complexity. She had been studying the portals in New York for ages. Loki frowned. How was it everyone knew about New York, and no one recognized him? He wasn't arguing, of course, but it was strange. Had there been no photos of him? He had no idea why he was listening to her, why he was even here. And yet... He knew. He had no resources, no connections. Making just one couldn't hurt. In fact, without her he would have probably wasted away on the streets of New York.

Besides, it was hilarious to see a female with so much similarity to Captain America himself, in Captain America attire. It made him laugh. She was blond, righteous, strong, and an American. She had moved over here to live with her aunt after her parents died. She stepped in puddles in her converse without thinking, and soaked her shoes, laughing as she shook water off them. He watched her, mildly amused, smiling all the while. Her hair flew in the wind, as short as it was.

"So, tell me about your son." Carolyn said finally, giving him a strange look. He admired her deep, dark eyes for a moment before saying anything in reply.

"I loved his mother a long time ago." He said, as if he couldn't help it. "She was radiant. I was young." He needed a cover - but he wanted to talk to someone about this as well. He was a father. That was something he thought he'd never say, or even think. Not after... This was all new to him, so it would be a half-truth. He stared at the sidewalk as they went. Cars passed, their headlights sliding over them before vanishing in a whoosh of pollution and tires creeping over asphalt.

"We were together often, and I was in the middle of my studies. I was a diligent student, but she was always... close by." He managed. In fact, she had been the castle maid. And she'd been supple. So, very distracting, indeed.

"We lay together often in my quarters. For months."

Carolyn listened carefully, disquieted but not dismissing. Loki sighed. "Then one day, I didn't see her at all. She tried to work a few days later, but could not. When I went by where she lived and asked her if she was all right, she said no, she'd been sick all week." He brought his hands forward and looked at them. "And she said she thought she was pregnant." He looked up at the stars. "I was... pitched into the sky. I was so happy. I thought, then, my father would let me marry her." He chuckled and looked back to the ground. "But he was only angry with me. I was not... employed, not wed, and I was having a child. He threatened to disown me."

Carolyn covered her mouth. Loki nodded to her. "But, my brother managed to talk him down. We waited. We rode out his anger. He told me..." He trailed off. "He told me, I could not keep the child. That it was not mine anymore. She would say it was another man's, and move out. Father fired her. My mother and I made sure was comfortable somewhere else until the baby was born, but father was adamant. I could not have a son so young."

Carolyn put her hand over her heart, and Loki said nothing for a while. The wind blew. His hair fluttered and flew. Then, he took a deep breath. "She was devastated. We were together until she birthed the child, then my father made sure no one would talk. No one else would know. A boy. A little boy. I... I never held him, in my arms. Not even once."

He shook his head. "The moment she was strong enough to be on her feet, she was mad, all at once. She took the child away, and came back without him. When I visited in secret, she ranted about how she had gotten rid of him, how I wouldn't have to worry myself over him anymore." He looked at Carolyn. "The way she spoke, I thought she'd killed him. I had no idea he was still alive - until I was him on the tele, in the care of others. And I am going to get him back."


	13. Clever Child

John threw the take out on the table and paced the room. Sherlock took in a breath slowly, "Hamish, could you read in your room for a bit? We'll set up dinner and call you when its ready." Nodding, Hamish got up and bobbed away down the hall. When his door shut behind him Sherlock looked up.

"Loki?" He asked the pacing husband of his. John held his head in his hands. "This is madness, pure madness! What is he talking about!? Thor, and that... portal! Stark closed it, Thor and the others, they... They took care of Loki, didn't they? Took him with them!" He turned. "Sherlock, please tell me this is a joke. He's joking, isn't he?" He asked desperately.

Sherlock's blank expression was all pale blue eyes and hesitation. John cried out and sat down, head in his hands. "How can this be?" He whispered. "How?"

Sherlock shook his head, thinking. "I'm not entirely sure if he's right," he said in a low voice. "but if he is, then that god is close and Hamish is in danger."

John looked up in alarm. "Oh my god," he said, paling. "Oh my god - you're right. Hamish... He..."

Sherlock got up and helped John to his feet. "John, I need you to call Lestrade. Tell him we sighted the man on the tele in a club downtown. Have them search it, now. And tell him its Loki." John nodded, gaping, and Sherlock left him. He went down the hall and knocked gently on Hamish's door. "It's dad," he said, and a giggle came from inside.

"I know it is, we live here."

Sherlock sighed and let himself in, smiling at the boy. "Clever thing. I'll switch you," he teased, and Hamish smiled as his father took a seat beside him.

"Is everything ok, daddy? I heard dad shouting."

Sherlock nodded. "He's only upset. Those boys at school - he was very sad they antagonized you."

"That means... mean right?"

"Yes, it does indeed. But it doesn't make sense." Hamish closed his book and frowned. "Why would they... antennagize... me if I wasn't the problem?"

Sherlock looked at the boy intently. "Because your parents are doing something people don't understand."

Hamish looked up at him. "Daddy said... 'It's not you, its us.' Are you doing something bad?"

Shaking his head, the man put an arm around his son. "No, Hamish. Daddy says that because he means you're not at fault. We're not doing anything wrong at all. Just different. New. And people don't understand why, when everyone else is doing something else." He smiled sadly. "People are angry with us. They think we're doing something wrong, because they don't like it."

"Well I never! Isn't that cruel!" Hamish exclaimed.

Sherlock chuckled, smoothing the boy's dark hair. "Yes, my boy, it is. And people are just like that. They don't like when you break the status quo."

"That means normal things, right?"

"Right you are, clever boy." Leaning close to him, the man gave the boy a look. "And we do it anyway, just so we can be your daddy's. Now, tell me something else. Who is this other dad you're talking about?"

Hamish explained the dreams. He explained the ones where his daddy is in a big, tall city that shines, and he wears a cape and has green eyes. He says when Loki was young, before he was born, he loved a woman with blue eyes. His mother. But she didn't want him, so, like all orphans, he was abandoned.

"How?" Sherlock asked. "There's no city like that here. How did she get her baby here, to where we found you?"

"That's easy. She told the big man with the dark face and the staff to send me away, far away," Hamish said sadly. "He didn't want to, but the king had said to do what she asked. So he sent me somewhere safe. Somewhere I could meet you, and be happy." He smiled. "I'd like to thank him someday. He let me meet my real daddy's."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Us? Your real dads?"

"Of course!" Hamish said defensively. "That man might have been my /real/ real daddy, but you are my daddy's. I mean, I've never even met him."

Sherlock could hardly contain a bubbling smile. "You are something entirely different, you know that, Hamish?" He wrapped the boy up in his arms and kissed his head. "Give me just another moment with daddy, then we'll call you and have dinner, all right? Read away." He got up and left, shutting the door gently behind him, leaving the boy to go back to his adventurous literature.


	14. Exposure - and a Fangirl

They differ in length so much because when I get an idea, sometimes it doesn't fit, and I have to stop halfway into it and find a way to work in an ending.

* * *

They got to Carolyn's car, and Loki groaned as he settled in the passenger's side. "Too late to ask if your driving is any good?"

Carolyn laughed and started up the car. "Way too late."

Loki chuckled. He was actually enjoying this woman's company. Surprising. He watched her. She carefully turned all her instruments on and bucked in.

"Buckle yourself," she scolded, and he gave her a look. She gave him a look right back. For ten full seconds, no one budged. Then Loki groaned and reached around, mumbling as he buckled his seatbelt. "Women," he said under his breath.

Carolyn winked at him before pulling out onto the road. "So, this wife of yours, where is she now?"

"She was never my wife," Loki sighed. "After the baby vanished, she spiraled into a dark depression. Took a job working for some shady men. Got killed one night on a raid, five or so years ago."

"A raid?" Carolyn asked in alarm.

Loki nodded. "Conspiracy rebels. Wrong, of course. They always are." He sighed and leaned his head against the window. It was so cool, and his head was so hot. "Carolyn," he said, and looked over at her.

She glanced over at him as they paused at a red light. "Loki?" She asked curiously.

He smiled. "Thank you. Really."

She shot a smile back. "Oh, don't fuss. You needed help. I'm not a monster."

"And all those people who didn't help me?"

"Didn't know you," she protested. "I wanted to know you."

He looked at her evenly, and she blushed. "So I stuck out to you, is that right?" He asked, with a slight bit of coy in his tone. His eyebrow arched.

"I suppose," Carolyn mustered, flustered. "I mean, the cape, and everything, I was sure..."

"Sure what?" He pressed.

"Sure you were him. And anyway, if you weren't, not a bad day's work - helping out a soul in need."

Loki looked at her hard. "You knew?"

Carolyn shook her head. "No, not really. I saw your picture - there was only two, my friend took them on his mobile, in New York. He was a childhood friend - still in the states. He was vacationing, touring Stark's tower when everything went down." She shrugged helplessly.

"But I gave you my name right out. Why did you help me, if you know me? What I've done?" He asked harshly.

She pulled up into a parking space and shut off the car, looking over at him. "Because I saw your eyes." She snapped. He looked at her like a deer in the headlights. "That's right." She said matter-of-factly. "My friend told me to look close, and I saw your eyes were blue. Before Thor shook you." She stared at him. "The second picture, my friend followed the Avengers into the park. He took your picture with that mask on. Your eyes were green." She leaned in close. "They're green now, aren't they? Isn't that what the tesseract does? Controls people, turns their eyes blue?"

Loki was entirely speechless. Who could have possibly...? Her, of course. Her and that friend of hers. Damn. How many...? "You shouldn't even know that," he shouted. "Nothing was controlling me, I killed all those people-"

"It WAS!" Carolyn yelled sharply. "Now stop acting like you can lie to me." She got out of the car and slammed the door shut, stalking around to open his door. He stared at her like she was mad. "Now get out of the car, and come with me."

"I'm a killer, Carolyn," he said coldly. "Tesseract or no, I've killed in cold blood, and will continue to do so until my goal is reached."

"And that goal is what, Loki?" She asked, suddenly tired. "World domination?"

Loki paused. He thought a minute, glancing between her and the windshield. Why was he even considering something like this? It was madness. But she was his only help, and he needed it, badly.

He undid his seatbelt.


	15. Stark

Lestrade took his men and searched the clubs. They spoke to everyone in all five clubs, and finally got a lead on the mysterious man's whereabouts. Someone had seen him with Carolyn, but no one knew where she lived, or her number, or even her last name. They were party friends, one explained. They only met to mosh like this once in a blue moon. After a few frustrating calls and a night full of interviews, the police let everybody go and returned to their parties. The wind whipped in their faces as they struggled to their cars, and it began to overturn things in the streets. No one paid it much mind. It was usually done with by morning.

John and Sherlock had a long talk about Loki, about what Hamish had told them, long after the boy had fallen asleep. After quite a bit of panic and rash decision preempting, Sherlock managed to calm John down and explain that if Loki was strong he would have just come and taken him from them. He must be weak, cast off, and recovering from whatever had happened to him.  
"The tesseract is an unstable power," Sherlock said. "Even caged, it's very aura controls time and space. It must've helped Loki escape Thor's captivity."  
John gaped. "Then where is Thor now? Where are the Avengers, to haul his sorry arse back to... where ever the hell they came from?!"  
Sherlock took John's hands and held them together. "John," he said calmly, his eyes piercing John's. "We can summon them. They will come, if our son is indeed in danger."  
John blinked, calming down now, and Sherlock looked at him. "Loki is still recovering, we still have time. And Thor must have noticed long ago that his brother was missing. He's probably searching the stars right now - but no one can reach him. We need Stark."

Sherlock typed away on the computer all night. When he had finally located what he wanted, he picked up the phone and dialed. It rang several times, and a woman's voice answered wearily.  
"Pepper," Sherlock replied, "May I speak with Mr. Stark, please? It's about Loki."  
After a moment of stunned silence, the phone fumbled and he heard muffled protests as the phone was handed off.  
"Look, whoever you are, I don't care for phone calls at three a.m. so this better be damn important," Tony snapped. "And how did you get this number? It's secured."

"I am Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock droned. "Your silly securities don't do much for my skills." He leaned forward on the couch.  
"You've lost yourself a god, Stark. He's here in London, right now."  
"That's ridiculous. They both left in a huge friggin' shaft of light, I'm sure they're long gone."  
"Mr. Stark, how often do you watch London tele?"  
"Not as often as I sleep through a wake-up call."  
"Maybe you should wake up more often and check the world news," Sherlock said drily. "Because Loki is sitting smack in the middle of London. The hospital claimed they found him at a dump - where reports said he was 'flung from a portal as if thrust into a cannon and fired henceforth.' "

Silence.

"He broke a window, jumped four stories and made the news. His sketch is on live air right now, and they're out scouring the streets for him. How many people do you think he'll kill before Thor comes back from his planet hopping to find his brother never left earth?" Sherlock said coldly. "How far does that hammer fly before it comes back 'round?"

"I'm sure everything will be fine, Holmes. Tell you what," Tony yawned. "I'll call you back in the morning, and we'll talk more."  
"Fair enough."  
"Great! Goodnight, Holmes."  
Click. Buzzzzzzzzzzzz...  
Sherlock put the phone down and stared at it a moment before breaking into a smirk. Getting up, he went to their room and tossed his robe over a chair. Then he lay beside his husband, and at once became a pillow, sinking into a satisfied slumber at the idea that Stark did not have the capacity to ignore such a threat. Just picturing him in his underwear at the computer, watching those clips with his mouth wide open, laughed Sherlock to sleep.


	16. God Empathy

"You're mad."  
The room was quite cluttered with blankets and pillows and books and shoes, mostly in red, white and pink. Matter of fact, most of her rooms were. The guest room most of all. Carolyn cleared things away, rolling her eyes as she made up the bed and cleaned at the same time.  
"You could be more grateful."  
"You've taken in a killer. If you're mad, you're a liability."  
"I'm not mad." She fluffed the pillows.  
"Then what's your game?" Loki demanded, on a plush stool in the corner she'd cleared of magazines. "I opened a portal in New York that killed millions and destroyed half the city. Half of New York, smithereens because of me. Not two weeks ago. And here you are practically serving me tea."  
"Would you like some?" Carolyn asked suddenly. "I forget all these British people love tea like we love soda."  
Loki gave her a look. She glanced at him and shrugged, continuing to clean. "Carolyn, stop."  
She stopped.

She was in sweatpants and a tank top now, having changed out of her skimpy dress. Although she still looked lovely, he could see glimpses of her flesh between the pants and tank top, and further skin at the neck of her top. He tore his eyes from the flesh of her lower back as she turned to look at him, and he did not yield. Her eye were very calm.  
"Why are you doing this?" He asked again, firmly.  
"If you're summoning my brother or his homo-sapien friends I shouldn't be here. And if they're already on their way, I'll be locked away for life or killed upon my return home, soon enough.  
If you're calling the police, I'm sure they'd only return me to the hospital and I'd escape again. And I wouldn't come back here, that's for sure." He stared at her hard, and she did not flinch from it. "Tell me why, and tell me now, because either way it does not matter."

Carolyn crossed her arms and sighed. Tucking loose bangs behind her hair, she slid her arms back together again and moved across the room to where there was a shelf of books, childrens' books by the spines. She ran her fingers over them and looked over at him fleetingly.  
"Because I know why."  
"I beg your pardon?" Loki barked a laugh. "Know why what?"  
She did not waver. "I know why you do it."  
He stared at her with steely eyes.  
She stared back.  
"I am a banished god." Loki seethed. "How could you possibly know what I do? Why I do it?"  
"Because I know that if I were you, I'd do the same." She snapped. "I would fight my brother, kill even, for that power. I would slaughter anyone in my path - just because once you start down that road there is no going back.  
And if you do not reach the end, you are not genius as you wish them to think - but madness, which you are equally."

Loki glared at her.  
She glared back, quite lividly. "Your beds almost ready." She went back to cleaning, and he sat and brooded. What was her problem? How could she even bother to think she knows what its like? Born a monster, taken in by gods, raised in a shadow and cast into the darkness by blood and a selfish lust for power. How could she? No one could, no one but him. She was trying to sympathize, maybe it was a fangirl thing. Anyway, she didn't seem to want to do him harm, for whatever mad reason, and she had given him food and shelter. For now, she lived. But when they parted ways he would need to weigh the gravity of her knowledge with her kindness.

"Come on, now." Carolyn said gently. She dusted her hands off and came over to him. He stared at her as she removed his cape. Unhooked both sides, and drew it over his head, setting it gently on a chair. His temper boiled. Glancing at it, then at her, he caught her gaze and glared daggers at her hands. 'Better not touch me again, mortal.' He hissed in his thoughts. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she went to the door. "Take 'em off and I'll wash and mend them the best I can manage." She stepped out into the hall and went to shut the door. "Just don't burn down my house, and sleep as long as you like. Goodnight, Loki." Then she shut the door gently.

He listened for her retreating footsteps, and the creak of her door before rising heavily to his feet. The room was... comfortable. For a middle waged peasant. But it was all he had, and it was better than a dungeon, or death. And so, he removed his armor and set it aside; as well as his tunic. He groaned softly in pain with every movement, and once he was finished, he lay on top of the bedcovers. Shirtless, pale, breathing unevenly, he settled back, waiting for his body to adjust to the softness of the bed before letting darkness drift over him.


	17. Foreign

With the morning came news. Lestrade told them everything he had and hadn't found, and demanded to know why a god was so hard to find.

"He's weak," Sherlock said in a low voice. Hamish was in his room but the door was open, he didn't want to be heard. John was putting the kettle on.

"It's not like he has any power right now - he just fought the Avengers, not to mention he just escaped from his brother. The tesseract must've acted up - must've been injured in the portal." He continued as he moved through the flat. "At any rate, that girl is housing him, probably unaware of who he is. That Carolyn character may be in danger, but its not mounting until she discovers just who her guest really is."

Lestrade sighed on the other end, which came through as static. "I take it you already called Stark?"

"Yeah. He didn't sound convinced, but I know Stark. He'll be on it."

"Our people will contact the Americans, and S.H.I.E.L.D. as well. We'll make sure your son is safe, Sherlock."

Nodding, Sherlock glanced at Hamish's door. "Hamish says he can sense the man. The moment he arrived, why he's here. All that."

"Seriously? Whoa, uh, well the kid is an Asgardian, right? Isn't that normal?"

Sherlock froze in shock. "O... Of course... that has occurred to me," he managed.

"Wha' ? Sherlock, you didn't think he was lyin' did you?"

"No! No, I just... I don't accept easily the idea of other worlds let alone beings from there, its almost like I forgot to remember - if that man is Hamish's father, then Hamish is indeed an Asgardian."

"That's gotta be hard."

"What? Why?"

"Well, I dunno, they live longer? They're stronger, faster?"

Sherlock paced. "He hasn't showed any signs of that."

"Maybe cuz you always have 'im readin'. Anyway, its bound to happen eventually. Don't worry. We'll keep an eye out."

Sherlock put his back to the wall and looked up at the ceiling. "Thank you, Greg."

"Yeah, my job and all. Well good luck, mate; keep us updated with what the kid says."

"Yeah, all right."

"Later."

"Later."

Sherlock had just hung up with Greg and was pacing still. He went to the window and bit his knuckle, eyes glimmering. His son was an alien from another world. That was hard to let sink in - he seemed so human. He was so small, so innocent. He turned to John, who was coming in with a cuppa.

"Our son is an Asgardian," he said right out, and John stared at him.

"Well, yeah. You're right." His face took on a troubled look. "An alien. Our boy."

Sherlock shook his head and accepted the tea, putting it aside. "I don't know what to think of it." He said quietly.

John nodded a bit, looking down at his tea. "Well, you know, its not his fault. He's an innocent kid, and we're his parents." Sherlock nodded. He exchanged a sheepish smile with John and they both looked out the window. "The wind's stopped." John noticed.

Squinting, Sherlock frowned. "You're right. That's odd. They've been going on two days now, why quit cold turkey?"

John shrugged. "Maybe what weather it was trying to bring finally got here."

Sherlock's eyes were shadowed. "That's what I'm afraid of."


	18. Shirtless Loki Needs

/ 'Daddy... Daddy, you can come now... I'm here, I'm waiting...' / That voice... he'd never heard the boy's voice before... A pale face, framed in dark hair, just like his. He was thin, all smiles, with his mother's eyes, and her glimmer. That shine she had while she was pregnant, the one that died the day she went mad. He giggled, and it was like chiming bells. Loki's heart broke. / 'Don't look at me like that, daddy. I know who you are. I want to meet you, daddy.' / There had never been a deeper gnash in his heart, and this boy was prodding it with his laughter. He worked his jaw, but no words came out. The boy was so... perfect. Innocent. Pale. Small. He looked almost exactly like he had when he was young. The boy held out a pale hand, his smile growing. / 'Don't cry daddy, don't be afraid. I love you, too.' /

Loki gasped and his eyes flew open. He blinked rapidly. That voice... how had he heard that voice? Why was it so... He struggled to sit up and rubbed his eyes dry, taking a shuddering breath. His heart was racing. The boy was so precious - he needed to see him, be near him now. But he had no plan, no direction, no nothing - nothing but this silly girl. He was useless. In all his life, he'd only felt entirely this conflicted once - and even then not as much indecision. At least then he'd already had a plan. He had a son now, he was a father. A murdering father with scores of human and otherwise blood on his hands, and he was disrupted mentally by a nine year old with blue eyes. His mother's eyes.

He got out of bed and went to the mirror. He brushed his hair out until it lay calm and looked at himself. Enough indecision. He knew one thing for sure - that child was his, and he was going to get him back, no matter what. Not only that, but he was being taken care of by the most esteemed detective on the planet. Loki grinned. A challenge he could rise to. He had a plan now; his mind was still cluttered, but it would be clear soon enough.

He looked down at his arms. He felt his normal strength regained. His body no longer throbbed, although he did ache still. Not nearly as much.

Triumph took over his face. With a bit more planning, and sustenance, he would be back in business.

Two knocks on the door. He walked to his tunic and picked it up. "Come in." As he turned it over, Carolyn opened the door, spatula in hand.

"Breakfast is-" She stopped short, staring at him in shirtless shock. He was pale, sure, but slender, with narrow shoulders. His sharp hip bones vanished beneath the lip of his trousers. She could almost feel them pressing against her. If she slapped his face, his cheekbones were so sharp, she'd surely get cut. His neck curved gracefully, unblemished, as he turned to look at her quizzically. Skin smooth like silk; he practically glowed. His hands looked bigger without those gauntlets on, too, with a handful of his tunic in each. And those green eyes... he was handsome in every sense of the word, more like a god shirtless than he was in a cape. His lips curled into a grin beneath a sharp nose, and he looked at her evenly.

"Breakfast is... what? On fire?" He asked in amusement. She was stunned and he wasn't even using a spell.

"No," Carolyn said defensively. "It's... it's done, and done well. Now come eat." She snapped, and glanced at him once more before stalking away to the kitchen. With a chuckle, he pulled his tunic over his head and fixed it on with his belt. His armor and cape could wait for now. He walked out into the hall and followed the smell of earth food, spotting Carolyn flipping one last pancake. There was enough food for three people. Good. He was going to devour everything. But first...

Creeping up behind her, he put his hands on her waist and grinned as she stiffened with a small cry. He leaned into her ear and chuckled ominously. "I hope your cooking is as good as your driving." As her tiny mind spun he went to the table and sat down, smirking as he leaned back. So easy to toy with. Humans in general; females especially. Carolyn gave him a hard look, which he brushed off, and flopped his plate in front of him.

"Look you," she scolded. "I gave you food and a bed and company. The least you could do was be polite."

He chuckled. "I can't help myself. You jump so easy." She whacked his shoulder with the spatula and he laughed even more. Rolling her eyes, she tossed the spatula into the sink and 'harumph'ed, glaring at him. But he was too busy eating to notice.


	19. Innocent Hamish

Hamish yawned as he woke. The room was all fuzzy. It made his eyes squint, and he pushed his hair out of his face clumsily. The dreams came rushing back to him as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. A smile broke out on his face and he looked out the window; he wished he would come already, he wanted to see him. Meet him. His real daddy. Of course, they could all live together here if he wanted, but for now he just wanted to touch him, hug him, and make sure he's real. He would hold his daddy, and make him stop crying, stop feeling so terrible inside. Hamish could feel it inside him every time he stretched out in his dreams to touch another's. And his daddy was very terrible inside. Although he was confusing madness with being conflicted, they were one and the same inside Loki, and it may explain quite a bit.

Getting up, Hamish went to the door and opened it, running into the bathroom. His daddy's were inside pacing and making breakfast. Outside, the sun was behind a thick layer of clouds, and there was no wind at all. No cars. No people. Hamish peered out the window as the toilet swirled and frowned. Where was everybody? He washed his hands and went back to his room. He wasn't hungry, so he'd read more of his book. Bouncing onto his bed, he grabbed his book and opened it at random - a ritual he had with this certain novel. Then he went to the center of the page and picked a quote.

/"The whole difference between construction and creation is exactly this: that a thing constructed can only be loved after it is constructed; but a thing created is loved before it exists."/

Hamish smiled. Just like babies. "Hamish!" He turned when his tall daddy called and shut the book, taking it with him as he went to the doorway. "Yes?" He asked.

"Breakfast is ready." Sherlock said with a smile. The boy bobbed his head and ran into the room, pushing his book onto the couch before going to the table. He climbed onto a chair and Sherlock sat beside him, John on his other side. They dished out the pancakes and poured tea and milk, handing Hamish a napkin.

"Sleep well?" John asked he handed Hamish a butter knife to cut his pancakes.

The boy used extreme precision to slice the delicate breakfast. "Oh yes," he replied. "And you?"

John and Sherlock exchanged a look. "

"I slept lovely, knowing I was home with your dad my boy again." John replied easily, clearing his throat. "How far along are you in Dickens's biography?"

"Almost done. It's really interesting. He did a lot of weird stuff before he died." Hamish said thoughtfully.

"Indeed he did. I'm glad you're enjoying it. He was a very famous man." Sherlock pointed out.

Hamish bobbed his head. "I know. I like all his books. The only one I've left to read is A Tale of Two Cities."

John smiled. "Well, that's fantastic. You'll have to tell me a bedtime story one time, and tell me about one of those. I'd love to hear it from you."

He nudged Hamish, and the boy giggled. "Sure, if you want." He said happily. "My real daddy could help me - I'm sure he's read all of them, even A Tale of Two Cities. Every time I dream of him he's always so full of information. Books, spells, everything."

"Spells?" John questioned, getting unnerved again.

"Yeah. Like vanishing spells and illusions and things." Hamish covered his mouth. "A lady is letting him stay over, but he thinks she's silly."

Sherlock glanced at John. "When is he coming, Hamish?"

As his face twisted in confusion, the small boy shook his head. "I don't know. I thought he'd be here by now, but he didn't feel good yesterday. He feels ok today, though. Much better."

John and Sherlock shared another look, this time one of fear. 'It's time,' Sherlock's look said. 'Be gentle,' John's warned.

"Hamish, we need to talk to you about your real dad." Sherlock said gently. The boy looked at him curiously. "Loki is... not a good man." Reaching out, he touched the boy's cheek. "He's hurt people. Good people. We're afraid of what he might do to you, or either one of us, if he finds us." At Hamish's look of devastation, John leaned forward. "We know how badly you want to meet him, but we don't want anything to happen to you."

The boy looked at his lap.

Sherlock persisted. "Can you promise us, from what you've seen of your dad, that he won't hurt you?"

Hamish nodded, glancing at both of them with tears in his eyes. "My daddy is just sad," he said, voice cracking. "He just wants to see me. He didn't know, he just..." Tears streamed down his face, and Sherlock reached out and pulled the boy onto his lap, holding him close.

"We know you love him, Hamish," he said softly, stroking his hair. "But we know what he's done. Look at me."

Hamish sniffled and looked up at Sherlock. The man looked at him evenly. "Are you absolutely certain - more certain than you are that you're clever - that you are safe with your dad?" Hamish nodded. Sherlock looked at John.

"Then we should prepare for our guest."


	20. Vali

Loki ate everything in sight. Carolyn watched, amused, sipping her coffee. She'd eaten one pancake, and he'd had about seventeen. He ate gracefully but similar to a tornado in the way that food was there, and then simply was not. It appeared on his plate and vanished again without a trace; except for the fact that there was a fork in his hand, she would have had no idea where it was going. Once most of it was gone he sat back and picked up the mug, glancing at her.

"This drink?"

"Coffee," she said.

After squinting at her, he took a sip and paused.

"Good enough for your godliness?" She laughed.

"I'll take six more," he replied simply, and drained the cup.

Rolling her eyes, she refilled his mug and he sipped at it, savoring the flavor with a smile on his lips. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"I don't see any male possessions around." He said, looking at her right-on. "How is it a blond on this planet is unwed?"

She laughed outright, smiling at Loki. "Whatever do you mean? That blonds can do no wrong?"

He chuckled. "Only that the males on this planet seem obsessed with them."

Carolyn shook her head. "Lets just say, when you tell a human guy you're a physicist, they turn and bolt in the other direction."

"No wonder the human race is failing," Loki muttered. "None of the smart ones are breeding."

Giggling, Carolyn tucked her bangs behind her ear and put her mug down gently. "Yes, well, I have no control over that truth."

He glanced off, and then at her once more, shifting a bit. Nervous, maybe? "I've never really spoken to any human females. Not like this."

With a quirk to her lips, Carolyn leaned her cheek in her palm and gave him a look. "And how do you like it?"

The confliction of answers swirled openly in his eyes as he took a moment to decide which he'd rather voice. It was like watching a pool of jade ripple after a single droplet of rain tumbled into it.

"I can tolerate it just fine," he settled, looking off as he sipped from his mug again. "You cook well, at the very least."

With a knowing smile, Carolyn got up and began to gather the dishes and put them in the sink. "Yeah, I like you, too." He looked up at her sharply and she winked, taking his empty plate from him. If she hadn't been tending to the dishes maybe she would have seen a flush in his cheeks. Frustration or embarrassment; it was unclear as to which was its cause, seeing as both were at war at the moment.

"You females are bold, aren't you?" he muttered.

"That's mostly Americans. But I've seen some bold English girls - not many blond ones, though." She replied.

He got up and put down the mug. "I'd love to hear all about the difference between English and American women, since you speak the same language, but I must be off."

Carolyn turned in alarm as he turned and headed to his bedroom. "What? Already?" She put down the dishes and dried her hands on her sweat pants as she followed him. Folding her arms over her chest, she leaned on the door frame to his room as he went and began picking up his armor. "In that?"

He turned and glanced at her condescendingly. "I wouldn't want these humans to see me as anything besides what I am. A god." He said pointedly, going back to his armor.

"But you'll be pulled over. I'll be pulled over, if I'm driving you. Aren't you avoiding the police?"

He stopped. He may still have his magic, but it wouldn't last up against the Avengers, if any of them decided to check out the rumor that a god was in London. He put down the armor and turned to her. "All right." He shimmered a bit, and his tunic and dark trousers turned into a suit with an expensive looking long-knit green scarf around the collar, his boots into dress shoes. He held out his arms in defeat. "How's this?"

Carolyn was trying to suppress a big smile. She shrugged and nodded. "You'll blend pretty well now."

He nodded, and gave a sigh, glaring at her. "You just wanted to see me in human attire."

She laughed. "Doesn't make my reasoning wrong," she said in a sing-song voice, and walked back to the kitchen. "Need a ride?"

He shook his head, and glanced at himself in the mirror, admiring the human look to him. Still an aristocrat, even if he wasn't a god. He looked to the door. This female was very disrupting. Following her, he nodded, standing by the counter as she washed the dishes. "Yes. I am not yet strong enough to travel alone," he forced.

Her eyes were full of worry as they caught his hesitant ones. "Are you gonna be all right?" She asked gently.

Those pools of chocolate seemed to drink him in. What he saw there made him very flighty, and he broke her stare, nodding silently.

"Well... if you think you're ready. Where's your son?"

"Where does Sherlock Holmes live?"

She dropped a mug into the sink and it made a loud clatter against the other dishes. "WHAT?!" She yelped. /"Sherlock Holmes's boy is your son?!"/

Loki was steadfast. "And I fully intend on taking him back."

"But he's a mad genius! He... He's famous!"

"So am I," Loki pointed out, "And he may be intelligent, but that does not make him powerful. I will take Vali if necessary."

She went to say something and halted. "Vali?" She said instead.

He worked his jaw, impatient. "That was to be his name. My first born."

"Oh, Loki..." Carolyn whispered, and the pain in her voice was evident. He glared at her, cutting her pitying look. After trying to curb his anger and failing, she sighed and went back to the dishes. "You can't just take things from Sherlock Holmes. He's resourceful, unapproachable. He probably has a plan right this minute and you're walking right into it."

"There is nothing he can throw at me that I cannot counter," Loki snapped. "He's not the only genius. Will you take me, or not?"

Carolyn finished the dishes and looked up at him. He was adamant, the fire in his heart evident, scorching her when she tried to calm it. It was clear he was bound and determined. "I wouldn't make a god walk the streets of London," she said softly. "I'll be ready shortly." She brushed passed him and vanished into her room, and he stalked the room moodily, his impatience mounting. There was a flicker to him that had not been there a day before, and its effects were entirely too visible. 

* * *

CHAPTER 20, WOOOOOOOO

These are getting longer and longer! Do you like the length, or should I chop them up again?


	21. Entirely Bonkers

people/methuselah87/works/11122237-lokis-madness

This is a t-shirt from my redbubble of this fanfiction.

There is also just Sherlock shirts, as well as just Loki shirts. And a few more.  
I know they're expensive, so you don't have to buy one, I understand fully.  
But if you do, thank you.

You've just lent me part of my family christmas gifts fund.

* * *

Hamish was tearing his room apart looking for something. In the living room, John was dying of a panic attack, muttering incoherent things as he nursed his cuppa, and Sherlock was calmly setting out fine china teacups and biscuits on the table he had so very strategically moved into the living room. He dodged around the panicking John as he prepared for the arrival of this dark god character, and once he was done he reached out and snatched the army man and pulled him into the kitchen.

"You need to stop falling off your rocker," Sherlock said firmly.

John gaped at him. "A GOD IS COMING TO THE FLAT TO STEAL OUR SON! I THINK I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE CONCERNED." He whispered fiercely.

Sherlock gave him a look. "Being a tad dramatic, are we?"

"ARE YOU BONKERS?! WHATS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!"

Sherlock took John by the shoulders and sat him down on a stool, forcing him to stop. "John," he said gently. "This is Hamish's father, if we panic he will get the wrong impression. He'll think we're dismissing his real father because we want him to ourselves. Just because we do, and we want to, doesn't mean we can."

John shook his head. "I'm still not right with it," he protested, glancing out the window. "This isn't right, putting Hamish in this position."

"He will be fine. We'll all be fine." Sherlock replied easily. "Please, try and gather your wits. You'll need them if we're to cope with anything Loki may throw at us. He is not powerful, but he is a trickster. He'll certainly try to distract us and pull something."

With a hopeless look, John looked at Sherlock. "I don't know if I can. Our boy will be inches from a murderer. He may hug him, hold his hand. Hands that have slaughtered millions."

Sherlock drew in close and they shared a brief kiss, short but soft, and John sighed. "I know," Sherlock replied kindly. "I'm scared for him too. And I don't scare easy." John looked at him, and their eyes locked. "But I also don't back down from a challenge, especially one that my boy needs me for," the taller man said, his icy eyes cold like steel. "Now are you going to get yourself in order, or not?"

After a moment of gathering himself, John nodded, and they parted ways, in different ways cleaning and preparing for their guest.

Hamish found his best black button down and brown trousers, and tied on his nicest shoes. They were a tad small, but he refused sneakers or boots, and loafers were only for school. He combed his hair and made his bed and scrambled to put his room back together. He was excited - his stomach broiled with it. As he moved about the room, he felt his daddy drawing near. He was with someone else; he was distracted from his own nerves, brooding over something, as she prodded him, trying to cleanse the infection she'd apparently administered.

Hamish tilted his head. He hadn't seen her before. Maybe she was the one who'd housed his daddy while he was hurt. He would have to thank her quite a bit. All smiles, he bounced from his room to the bathroom to check his teeth and went into the living room. His daddy's were calm as they put together tea. Hamish grabbed his book off the couch and paced the room.

"He's almost here," he blurted, pacing back to his room, up and down the halls. John and Sherlock exchanged a look. John went downstairs, and Sherlock took a seat at the table, sitting back and crossing his legs. He would let the boy slow off some steam. Then maybe he'd sit still when this man arrived.

Downstairs, John locked up the cafe and was about to head back upstairs when a car pulled up out front. He gulped.


	22. Conflict of Interest

"Why can't I go in with you?"  
"Because I do not want you there."  
"But I'll be really quiet."  
"No."  
"Please?"  
"No."  
"I'll be completely silent."  
"No."  
"I'll wear an invisibility cloak."  
Loki turned and looked at Carolyn in the car. Not so much a look as the glare of a painful fiery death. "If you continue to question me I will blow up this vehicle."

"Not while you're inside. Now why can't I go?" Carolyn persisted. "I'm worried about you. What if they called Thor? What if someone tries to fight you? You said yourself you weren't strong enough to travel alone, I can't even imagine you in a fight right now."  
"Worried about a god," Loki scoffed. "I'm sure if you can look at your paycheck monthly and not be concerned about how much the government takes out nor how every king and president and dictator on this puny planet knows we exist and conceals it from the general public, you'll be fine waiting for a god to smuggle a child from seemingly clever mortals."  
"I will not."  
Loki sighed in frustration. "Just drive, please."

Carolyn shook her head as she turned a corner. "I don't know. I still want to be with you." He gave her a sarcastically questioning look. Her pale flesh gave way to scarlet in every visible patch. "W-With you when you see him, I mean," she stammered. "Please, look I just want to lend a hand. Or a cushion at least between you and whatever else they decide to do."  
"No. My decision is final." Loki said coldly. "Despite your mistrust in my condition, I'm fully capable of handling myself. If there is danger your fleshy form would not be much protection."  
"I guess..." She was silent a while. Buildings smoothed passed in different shades of gray.

"Do you even want a child?" She asked quietly, breaking the tense silence.  
Loki smashed his fist on the cat arm rest, breaking it with a loud SNAP! She leaped into the air and almost veered onto the sidewalk. They both jerked in their seats.  
"Of course I do!" He boomed, making her flinch as she straightened the wheel. His fury was scorching. "He belongs to me, I am the only one left who had a hand in his creation. He deserves not only the truth but a worthy father - not these arrogant earthlings. They are not worthy of him! He will be superior - he's already communicating through his dreams, a rare trait among magic users! He is a GOD!"

Carolyn glanced at him warily. "I understand that much," she explained calmly. "It's not him I'm worried about, it's you." He was seething right now, and she took a breath before continuing. "You don't have a home, or schooling, or any way of providing for him. He would join you in a heartbeat - he'll love you, that much is entirely obvious. He'd do anything for you. You're his dad, his real dad. But will he be happy? Safe? Cared for?"  
"I will find resources," Loki said coldly, but his voice shook.  
Pulling over, she looked at him. The car rumbled softly, growling like a warning predator. She could see him trembling.  
"I would never insult what you feel is right, or necessary. I want you to be with your son," she pressed, and he would not look at her. "But he is thriving right here. Healthy, happy. He will be different, but he'll be superior, just like you said." She looked down at her hands. "With you, he will be shunned from both worlds. Exposed as a foreigner. He'll be an outsider forever - he's only a child. It may break him."

"I suggest you hold your tongue, lest I cut it from your throat," Loki said in a deathly quiet voice. "If you were not of use, you would be dead already for your impudence. And at any moment your usefulness could run out entirely."  
He opened the door and kicked the broken armrest so it flew from the car and into the brick wall, where it stuck in a small crater. Stepping only the sidewalk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled at her. "Where is my destination?" He snapped.  
"221B," She replied quietly. "The blue door to the left."  
Loki nodded. "Good. Circle back, I will be finished soon." He gave her a look as she stared at her hands, causing her to miss it; although he was sure she could feel his anger. "If you do not return, I will find you and end your life. Is that clear?"  
When she looked up, her eyes were cold. "Yessir."  
"Good." He shot back. "Now. Go."  
She reached over and slammed the door shut, rolling down the window. "Make sure he packs socks and underwear, the void doesn't have any supermarkets." With that she kicked up the engine and tore away down the street, leaving her in her exhaust smoke. He coughed and a growl bubbled up from his chest and came out as a snarl. Impudent little...  
Turning on his heel, he stalked to the door labeled 221B and, with one blow, crushed it and sent it flying into the flat. When the dust cleared there was an older human male in a strange looking sweater with eyes as round as dinner plates, not a foot from where the door had crashed into the wall.  
"Pardon the intrusion," Loki smirked. "I've come to see my son."


	23. Tea Tension

Hamish jumped a foot in the air when he heard the door shatter. "Dad!" He cried, but his tall daddy beat him to the top of the steps. John had been downstairs - was he all right, did it hit him? The panic in his eyes faded as he noticed John was all right, and he straightened. His expression was cold. "Not the most polite way to enter a home." He said in a monotone. Hamish looked from Sherlock to John, to his dad. He was tall and slender, with fancy clothes on. He began to get excited. They'd both dressed nice.

Loki walked inside. He chuckled as he looked up at the taller man, staring off with him. "So this is the famous Sherlock Holmes." He glanced over John, who had halfway composed himself and was staring at him. "And your..."

"John, John Watson," John said sharply, surprising everyone. He stepped back. "You've rid yourself of the social barrier of the door, why not come in?" With the sweep of his hand, Loki's smile faded at the edges, but he turned his eyes on Sherlock, who drew Hamish close. The god's eyes lit up at once.

"Is this him?" He asked. "Is this who I've heard so much about?"

Sherlock nodded. "Loki, this is Hamish. Hamish, this is Loki." Hamish looked down at his father, alight with excitement, and Sherlock let him stumble down the steps towards him. John held his breath. Loki seemed serene, a grin on his face as the boy grew closer. Hamish stopped in front of him and Loki knelt.

"Let me look at you." He said gently, and Hamish did the same. "Thin for your age; then again, so was I." Loki remarked. "Bright, I can already tell."

"You're very tall," Hamish replied. "Just like my daddy."

Loki's eyes flickered. He glanced from Hamish, to Sherlock, and then smiled. "Indeed. It is a pleasure to meet you." The boy jumped and hugged him, and Loki's cry of surprise was muffled against the small shoulder. Laughing, he hugged the boy and picked him up like he was a loaf of bread.

"What a child you are. Fantastic." Hamish pulled back, his smile bubbling. Loki returned it before glancing at the other two men. "Am I still allowed in?"

John nodded stiffly, and Sherlock motioned for him to come into the living room. Still smiling, Loki climbed the stairs with Hamish in his arms and John followed close behind with one last glance at the shattered doorway. He owed Mrs. Hudson a new door. That meant a week's groceries.

Loki placed Hamish on his chair before taking the one offered to him. Sherlock sat across from him. They locked eyes. John went to fetch the tea, still shaking off door bits from his jumper.

"Cozy flat," Loki commented.

Sherlock dipped his chin without breaking their stare. "We rather like it, thank you."

Loki just smiled. He seemed to be enjoying this a fair amount. John feared for the table lest Loki smash something else - the fine china was extraordinarily dainty. "And you named him Hamish?" He questioned casually.

"John's middle name. His father's name." Sherlock replied.

The god nodded slowly, smile plastered on. "His mother and I discussed at great lengths what he was to be named, and took a long while to decide."

"Is that so?" Said the composed detective.

"Mmm. She liked the sound of Vali, and I enjoyed its similarities to my own."

"It is a regal name, indeed."

"But of course, Hamish is a quite English name."

Sherlock and Loki stared. John returned with the tea and sat down carefully. He began to pour, glancing between them.

"I rather enjoyed the name myself," John said, breaking the silence. "My mother used to use it to call me all the time. Because that made my and my sister Harriet's name closer together."

Hamish looked stunned.

"Quite." Loki chuckled and broke the glare to observe his son. "Black and brown. That's very English as well," he observed, making John glare at him. "But dashing all the same. Tell me, what do you like to do, Hamish?"

The boy glanced from his father, to Sherlock, and then back. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it all. It was a lot less warm than he'd anticipated. "Reading. I like to read." He replied.

"Ah, a student, are we? What do you read, young Hamish?"

"Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, and science fiction books. Like Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, and Time Machine."

Loki nodded slowly. It only then occurred to John that he probably knew none of those titles. "All very interesting titles," the god said, rather impressed. "Which do you favor?" He ignored his tea, but Sherlock sat back and drank it calmly. John's jittery hands fumbled with his trouser legs.

"Well," Hamish said, in that very serious, innocent way children had, "I did love Hitchhikers Guide. The story was fantastic. Unforgettable, even. But Dickens books make more right and good sense." The amount of English in that sentence was extraordinary. It made John smile behind his teacup, and Sherlock as well.

Loki chuckled. "Sense over story, that's a good inclination to keep in mind." He thought a moment. "You say you prefer Dickens. What is his best line? In your opinion, of course, being such a big fan." He conceded.

Looking down at his hands then to his room, where the book lie, the gears in his head clearly turned. After a brief moment he smiled. "Of course!" He exclaimed. "The one from that funny little book that was so sad at the end.

" 'Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.' " Hamish recited carefully. Sherlock was not watching the child but Loki. He could have sworn he saw something break there, in his eyes. Of course, the child did not notice, and continued to explain the trepidations of the characters and the reasoning behind the quote, but Sherlock put down his teacup and took note of every acute motion and feeling across the pale god's face. Loki shot him a small glare, also mostly unnoticed, but it was very clear what was aspiring.


	24. Love

The morning tea went on for a good stretch of time. Hamish recounted his favorite books and described them in much detail, while Loki, finally conceding to drinking the tea, smiled from behind his cuppa. He absorbed every detail. This child became more of a treasure the more he spoke. His intelligence soared, and exceeded all Loki's expectations. He was clever, witty, open, energetic. In every way a healthy, happy child.  
Loki could see only one thing wrong with this picture. There was no determination in him. No excitement for reason and purpose. No... king. No god. Just a human child. His heart sank. No mischief, no power, no drive to achieve, and rule, and be. He sat there with the only good thing he'd ever created, and had never loved anything more. But it wasn't the kind of respect and love he had held for his family. It was the love of a proud father - something entirely foreign to him. It made him feel warm, distracted, disoriented. Which made it difficult to keep up his open mind to observing the area around the house. Carolyn had parked the car and was perusing a book shop nearby. There were cats making love in the back yard. But nothing else did he find a chance to look for. This feeling was... disarming.

The boy paused to drink his tea, and Loki took a deep breath, "Hamish," he said, and the boy looked at him expectantly. "Can you do anything... extraordinary?"  
Sherlock, who had been focusing more on who might be accompanying the god outside the flat than his obviously safe son, now snapped to attention. John returned from clearing the table of dishes and all the blood drained from his face.

Hamish, typically oblivious, shrugged. Such a non-committing gesture. "I suppose so." He tapped his temple with a finger. "I can see people in my dreams. If they're sad, or unhappy, usually. But sometimes, I see them when they're happy, and what they dream about. Their hopes. What they want to be."  
With a hardly suppressed smile, Loki nodded. "I've been told thats a rare trait; an indication of a magic user."  
John almost fainted. Sherlock stared, fascinated.  
"Indication?" Hamish questioned.  
"It means a signal," the god explained. "If it happens, you know what you really are." The boy looked at him in wonder. "It means in the future, while you grow, the more you practice your magic the better at it you will become." The green eyes slid from Sherlock to John. "The people here can't do magic. Not your parents, nor any of the others. It'll give you an edge. A hand hold above the others."  
"Are you magic? Is that how I'm magic?" Hamish asked, still in awe.  
"Yes," Loki replied, lifting his hand Sherlock and John both tensed, but the god winked at them like, 'relax.' "My magic came about when I was about a year older than you. My mother always used to teach me how to shape it, make it my own. And I have." In his pale hands, a green ball formed, and began to transform into a tiny figure of Hamish. It giggled and swung around a book and vanished. John and Hamish stared. Sherlock watched Loki. "Want to try?" Loki asked quietly.

Hamish nodded. He lifted his hands and looked at them.  
"Focus on your magic; that feeling you get when you see other people in their dreams," Loki said. "Let it fill you up. Concentrate on it and it alone - and let it out."  
The room went silent. Hamish took a deep breath and shut his eyes. They all waited with bated breath. It seemed like the room was tense enough to cut with a knife. Outside, a car passed by. Then, with a spark, a small green blob appeared. Loki laughed aloud because he was so relieved it was green, startling the other two men. Hamish giggled happily. A person's magic was like a fingerprint. No two forms were the same. And for Loki, his magic was mischief, illusion. Hamish had the same type, of the same color, because they were of the same blood. Father and son. But his was lighter, more difficult to contain. It was a different sort. Loki squinted at it, grinning proudly. It must be protection and healing!  
"John," Loki snapped, and the man in the jumper looked at him with wide eyes. "Did you burn your hand on the teapot?"  
"M-Me? Well, I scorched it a bit, yeah-"  
Loki picked Hamish up and Sherlock and John both leaped to their feet. "Sit down," Loki scolded them. "You're going to want to watch this."  
Exchanging a look, they did as they were told, and Hamish looked up at John. "Daddy, let me see your hand," he said, catching on. John held out his hand, a long burn on his thumb visible. Hamish reached out and took the hand, letting his green magic just touch the burn. John made a yelp of surprise as it sparked, and then began to heal. In moments it was gone. Sherlock and John both leaned over John's hand, looking from it to Hamish.

Loki laughed triumphantly. "A healer! That's brilliant!" He grinned, and kissed Hamish's cheek. "You're surely my boy."  
Hamish hugged him tightly before turning his grin to his parents. "Daddy, is your hand ok?" He asked innocently. It broke all their hearts. They chattered about it for the next few minutes. All the ways he'd have to hide it, how he was supposed to make sure no one knew but them. It took some convincing, but after being scolded a bit the boy agreed. Loki held Hamish on his lap as he blurted all the ways he wanted to use his new powers. Loki's green eyes were full of pride and sadness, his smile reflecting that as well. No illusion. No destruction. Just healing. But he was still a god, despite what anyone might think.

"I think its time for me to go." Loki said quietly, as they all moved about putting the tea dishes away. They all turned to him.  
Hamish's eyes were full of fear. "What? Already? But..."  
"Hamish," Sherlock warned. "Your father came a very long way to see you. Hear him out."  
Glancing at Sherlock, Loki smiled gently as Hamish looked back to him with tears in his eyes. "I know its hard," he told him. "And it always will be. But you are strong. Let these two strong people teach you what I cannot."  
"But whose gonna teach me how to use my magic?" Hamish exclaimed.  
Loki took his hands and kissed them. "My boy, you will not need a teacher for that. Only guides. I have lead you through baby steps, the rest is up to you." No one had to ask. They knew he would never be back. Hamish hugged him and wouldn't let go. Loki held him close and looked at Sherlock and John. "I could never repay you enough for taking him in," he said earnestly. "I'm confident the man he will be, will not be any additive of mine. You two have done a magnificent job."  
Sherlock nodded slightly giving him a quiet look. "Thank you." At his side, John nodded nervously, watching his boy. "We'll try to continue doing just that." He replied, and Loki nodded.

Hamish let him go. Loki set him down gently. Sherlock and John drew him close, relieved, and Hamish looked up at his father. "I'll miss you." He said, crestfallen, his tears flowing down his pale face.  
"And I you." Loki replied. He smiled. "I'm very proud of you, Hamish. I always will be." With one last glance at Sherlock and John, he turned and made his way down the stairs. They went to the doorway to see him off, and watched him vanish down the stairs and into the streets.  
"Did my daddy love me?" Hamish asked suddenly, after they'd all been standing there in shock for a few minutes.  
John put his hand on Hamish's shoulder. "I think he loved you more than anything, Hamish."


	25. It's Never Over

"And which titles are you looking up?"

Carolyn looked up in alarm to see Loki standing over her, looking weathered and taunt. The book cases he was lined against made him look like an aristocrat in an impoverished bookstore. In a way, he was. But he was also alone. She fumbled to put down the books in her hands and got up at once, looking him over. He wearily let her check him for injuries or signs of a fight, which of course she would not find. Of course, he was entirely uninjured, and seemed to only be damaged in another way. Once her brief investigation was complete she looked into his stormy eyes. He stared her down and she sighed.

"I'm not usually wrong." She mumbled.

"I do that to people," he shot back, "Take me away from here, girl. And spare me your opinions, for I want nothing of them."

Carolyn bit back a retort and looked at him again as she nodded. An understanding passed between them. She took his arm and lead him out. She opened his door and made sure he was comfortable before shutting it again. Then she slid into the drivers side and pulled into the street, merging into London's traffic.

"I need rest," he said, looking out the window. "I won't be disturbed."

"Of course." Carolyn replied quietly.

Sherlock's phone rang as Mrs. Hudson came back from the market and John ran to calm her as she called out asking why her door was shattered. The tall detective answered it and stalked in the livingroom. "My son could be dead right now," he shouted. "If that man had even so much as decided to pluck a hair from his head-"

"Relax, Sparky. I had my man watch out for your son."

"None of you were here. Not a soul."

"Oh, he was there, all right. He's quite a good shot."

"Sherlock!" John called. "We've another one."

Sherlock ran to the top of the steps, where Hawkeye was standing in the doorway in civis, a bow and quiver strapped to his back. "Sup," he said, lifting a hand to wave.

"You sent a bloody archer, Stark?" Sherlock demanded.

The phone crackled with a sigh. "Holmes, look, the FBI commandeered his service from us the second he was turned loose from the Avengers. The guy is the best in the world."

"You assigned us a bodyguard?"

"Of course I did."

"Then who will pursue Loki?"

"We will. As soon as I find 'we.' "

Sherlock paced the flat, infuriated. "And until then a master of genocide walks the streets free?"

"If you feel you no longer need protection, send Hawkeye."

"If you won't come yourself its obvious it isn't safe to send an archer to do a god's job."

"I heard that!" Hawkeye called.

"Shove it," Sherlock yelled back, and turned back to his phone call. "If Hawkeye can't take on Loki, sending him alone to protect the life of Loki's own child was foolish."

"Would you rather I'd sent no one?"

"Stark."

"Look, if he didn't take the kid, that means he's weak, right? So he's going to recover, but not yet. He's not strong enough to kick over a flowerpot, let alone kidnap your son."

"You sent the bodyguard simply to appease John?"

"And you. Doesn't seem like it worked, though."

"No, for I am not a dolt."

"Hey!" John snapped.

"Not you," Sherlock called.

"Fine, you're too smart for me. Congrats."

"The longer you banter with me, the longer I have to wait for you to gather your peers and recapture a villain you so easily lost custody of," Sherlock said coldly. "Get him away from my boy, Stark. And do it now."

Click.

Loki lay in the darkness of his room. His son, with a bloody English name like Hamish. Vali was much more suiting. A god's name. Strong, unapproachable. Not a boy's name. Tea and biscuits over the life of the first grandson to the king of Asgard. The world was going mad. And he was at its center. Well, he would change all that. Strong enough to walk and be cordial today, strong enough to tear down the city tomorrow.

No, he was not going to let this lie. He knew Stark was coming for him, and he needed leverage. Holmes had called Stark - and at the moment he could just see that arrogant sod recruiting his little team only moments after his departure. Hawkeye, the man with the bow and twigs, against him? Fat chance. He may be weak, but he still had his senses about him. He could have crushed the man, easily. Made him think he was falling, fling him off the building he was standing on. He smirked. He'd taken him over once before, he knew the man's fears.

Eventually he was going to have to leave the custody of Carolyn. She knew too much, she had to be sacrificed. A useless human female anyway. She would back talk a god, in his very presence, and expect no rebuttal? His pale blue eyes shone in the darkness. Taking in every detail of the dim room, he memorized the titles on her shelf. Peter Pan. Treasure Island. Many more he did not recognize. Stuffed toys and blankets, chairs his cape was draped over, as well as his armor. He turned his head and looked at the door. She had called no one, told no one. She had remained here and cleaned and sat in her room reading silently. An obedient human.

But she had wished to assist a murderer, it was her own fault. She'd known the risk taking him off that corner step. And now here she was. Despite her caretaking, she was just a puppet, an empty shell. She did not and would never understand his endeavors. Not at this moment, not even in her weak mind. No matter how many times she fought him tooth and nail over the matters, she would never fully be a part of his darkness.

But did he want it that way? In his steadfast plots, in his attempts and failures at a throne, who asked questions? Who queried him in earnest to wish him to cease? None. Who did act to attack and kill him, lock him away? Drag him through the mud?

He had dragged himself through the mud, deceiving those who claimed to be his family. And who did ask? Thor, he supposed, but who tried to convince him otherwise?

Who didn't try to?

Loki lay staring at the ceiling a while longer. The wind had stopped last night. Maybe it was time to go outside again.

Shrouded by darkness would probably be best.


	26. Down the Road

I must beg apologies. In the last chapter, a lot did not transfer over.  
It has been edited and restored fully.

Thank you.

* * *

Hawkeye looked quizzically at his teacup. "Uh, no really," he said, looking up at them. "The guy is a nutter, but I know his tricks. If he had tried to pull anything, its not like he could have flown you off; I would have disabled his transport and intercepted him. I've fought bigger and worse." He added. Although his attempts were sincere, the two Englishmen were unconvinced. Sherlock and John sat with their arms crossed, staring him down. Bright pale and dark cloudy blue eyes pierced him.  
Hamish hadn't left his room since Loki left. It was almost midnight now, and Hawkeye had been patrolling the perimeter. Finding nothing, he had come to let these two know, when they'd yanked him in for an interrogation. With tea, apparently.  
The American shifted uncomfortably and put the tea aside. "Look," he said firmly. "Loki is trying to pull something. He has a plan, he always does. He's got that girl to do his bidding, and he's coming back for your son. But nowhere near anytime soon. When he was lost, he was flung through a portal made by the tesseract. It threw him through dangerous worlds. He was beaten badly, and didn't try very hard to hide it."

"Yes," Sherlock said sharply. "I noticed him trying to pretend a limp, as well as move sluggishly to throw us off, but he had no trouble lifting Hamish into his arms. And he didn't seem agitated when moving any of his limbs, not even while sitting down for long periods of time, which means any joint damage that should have occurred in the struggle was either mended or fended off."  
"He doesn't have the power to face anyone, even if he is mended," Hawkeye protested. "He has no staff, no tesseract, nothing but his illusions."  
Leaning forward, the detective glared at him. "His illusions can make you walk in front of a car or fall into a manhole, then he'd be long gone by the time you recovered," he snapped. "He is pretending to be conflicted and injured so we won't follow him to see what he's really planning, and you're babysitting the three of us when its already clear we're safe."  
"If he is planning something, Stark will want me to wait for the others." Hawkeye replied calmly. "If I'm not here to protect you and he does return, you'll be defenseless. If he gets me out of the way, there is a good handful of days between you and the Avengers. They won't be here in time to save your son if Loki kills me."  
John shook his head. "If he won't come back until he's recharged, why wait? If he's not strong enough yet, why stay with us when you know he's plotting?" He questioned adamantly.

"Because I'm a trained agent, and Stark gave me an order to defend this place and all of you in it," Hawkeye told him sincerely. "I can't just leave. None of you have any combat ability against the supernatural. And Loki is not just any soldier. He's unpredictable. Merciless. If I went looking for him and he came back here, he would use his magic to either injure or kill you, and he would take your boy by force." He sighed. "He could be doing any number of things. And if he has the girl, who knows how many people he has under his charge? How many kids he's convinced to follow him? He will weave a web of lies and sit himself in the center, and we'll all be ensnared if we don't do this exactly as we should."  
John shook his head and rested his hand under his nose. Sherlock took a deep breath, glancing between them. "All right," he said gently. "You can remain. But the second Stark arrives, send him to me." Then he got up and began to pace. "I'll call Mycroft." He vanished outside and John stared after him.  
"Mycroft? Damn. This must be bad." He said shakily, putting his face in his hands.

Hawkeye reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Everything will be fine, Mr. Watson. Stark will gather the others and we will make sure Loki is caged before we go back. Maybe that way even if he gets away, he'll be stuck."  
John looked up at him sheepishly and nodded. "I bloody hope so," he replied.  
Sighing, Hawkeye pushed his hands on his knees and got up. "I'll go make my rounds again. Try not to leave the vicinity; that's our best bet of defending your son. Thank you for the tea." With that he was gone, out the window and scaling the roof.  
John got up and cleared the dishes. Then he looked to Hamish's room. He was probably asleep by now, exhausted by the day. He'd let him rest. Going to the couch, he picked up his laptop and pulled up another empty blog page. He clicked the 'Title Here' box and labeled it, 'A Lost God.'


	27. Shocking

The night air was frigid. Determined not to feel the chill, and wrapped in all the warm clothing he had without adorning his armor, Loki stepped out into the moonlight and shut the door to Carolyn's flat, leaving it unlocked. The darkness welcomed him. With his breath misting he clutched his pale hands into fists and climbed down the stairs to the parking lot. The world was still around him. Not a whipping sting of cold, but the cold of a stopped heart; a body lain in waiting to spring to life again. But what kind of life, he wondered. Casting his glowing green eyes to the sky, he chuckled. A cloud of his laughter climbed into the stars and vanished. "Where are you?" He said aloud. As he reached the bottom level, he stepped onto the asphalt and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was nowhere near as cold as Jotunheim but it was not a pleasant cold and he had to stand very still someplace. He glanced about. Walking behind the complex, he slid through a narrow gap in a broken chain link fence and stood between the side of the building with no windows and a huge abandoned building. It looked to have been a cluster of offices once. Now, it stood boarded up, with a notice of destruction on it.

Picking a spot out of view from any side, he took a deep breath and shut his eyes, letting it out slowly. He looked part dragon, steam flying from his nostrils as he did so. First he must locate it. Where, he wondered, had it gotten to? In his mind, his magic reached out, sending a beacon to anything and everything that may be of use to him. It was like sonar. It echoed back empty in every direction. Except... He turned that direction and threw his mind out like a lasso, drawing it back and throwing it again trying to ensnare his goal. It shivered and shook, and felt his energy. It burst forth from its hiding place and was captured by his summons. Like a dog its ears perked and it lurched to attention. It came rushing at him from beyond the horizon, thousands of miles per second. He could not tell how far off it was; his entire body tensed in preparation.

A figure emerged from around the corner, shivering violently in her cloth short shorts and a long open sweater that stretched down her arms and passed her waist on both sides. Carolyn's blonde hair shimmered in the light of the street lamp as she scanned the gated area for any signs of the man she'd lost from her flat. Barefoot, bouncing in place, she scoured the grounds looking, her breath coming out in quick, small clouds of warm air. Worried, softly panicking, she jogged up to the fence upon spotting a figure in the dark. It was Loki, standing in a back area shrouded in dead trees and broken machinery, head tilted to the South, eyes shut as far as she could tell. She clutched the fence and peered at him. So... Focused. Not at all peaceful, like she imagined he would be right now if he hadn't gotten out of bed. She was treating a god like a child, this she was aware of, but when no one else would look after him, it became her job. Not only was he the most fascinating thing to come into contact with as a physicist, but he was drop-dead gorgeous, too.

The sky began to clutter with clouds and rumbling thunder, too low to be mistaken as anything threatening. Her dark eyes were wide as she saw it was forming over where Loki stood, thousands of feet in the air. She trembled violently with cold and clenched her jaw, staring at it, then at him. What, was it going to shoot him with lightning? She really, really hoped not! But a freak storm, just for lightning? Entirely improbable. Just as she was about to cry out and warn him, it flashed blue, and she leaped a foot in the air as it cracked over him. It struck him like the head of a pin gets hit by a hammer. Her cries were lost in the sound of the collision - it going through him, into the ground.

Even before the sound had stopped echoing, she was running, running through the fence and over to Loki, who stood with his arms extended. Something he wasn't doing earlier. He was blackened with ash and a blue light buzzed all around his body. The ground around him looked like a box of TNT had exploded right where he had been standing, and he was part of the blast.

She paused on the blackened asphalt and stared. The glow buzzed, and he seemed to be chuckling. He looked almost radioactive. His chuckling bounced off the walls of the building - deathly quiet in comparison to the bolt - and it mounted into laughter as the glow ran along his fingers. He twiddled his fingers and it danced along his knuckles, his clothes sparking with it, and laughed. The man had just been struck by lightning, and he was laughing. Carolyn looked on in wonder. What a way to find the handsome villain to the Avengers' mission only weeks ago - hat a ride this was turning out to be. What else had she done with her life before this? School and waitressing? This was much, much more exciting. The energy, the power, the thrill.

The glow faded off Loki. It seemed to be drawn into him, and then it was dark once more. He looked to be panting, and then with a groan collapsed to one knee. Carolyn leaped the last few steps to his side, her feet blackened by the ash as she knelt by his side.

"That was a lot of energy you just absorbed," she scolded as she grabbed him, keeping him from falling over. "Fat lot of good it'll do you if you don't store it properly."

"Working on it," Loki said weakly through clenched teeth.

"Be careful, please. I really would rather you not explode."

"Not helping." He bent his head and with another groan of pain the blue sparked and faded gently this time, dispersing among his limbs. He gasped, and it was over.


	28. Perterbed

Hamish couldn't sleep for a long time. He heard his daddy's worried yelling, their arguments, and his heart - already in pain - throbbed with it. His quiet life, his loving daddy's, and everything had gone wrong. He was supposed to be with his real dad forever, too. He was supposed to stay close. And read him stories. And tell him about mommy. Tears streamed down his face, silent sobs racking his small shoulders. He didn't even get a chance to ask about mommy. Did he have another grandpa, or grandma? What about siblings? No, now he would never know. Curling up in bed, Hamish hugged his book and let the tears soak his pillow as he stared out his misted window into the night. He would never feel more broken.

He must've drifted off to sleep eventually. In his dreams, he reached out as far as he could. He looked for his mother in every reach of the galaxy, then another, and another. She was nowhere to be found. There was no trace of her. He drew back, and had a brief dream about healing someone at school, being heroic and forever known as a hero and not the boy with two dads. Then on his radar he picked up a lightning storm. A very, very small, concentrated one. A shock big enough to injure whoever was beneath it. And then, he saw his real daddy under it. It even struck him. Hamish jumped and woke up, staring out into the dark. Why did he feel like that wasn't the last time he'd see his dad?

Hawkeye hooked on his earpiece and sprinted across roof tops as he went, scanning for any signs of the lost god. This was the sixth time he'd done this round, but he refused to let anything happen to the famous Sherlock Holmes and his family. He was in mid-air of the next jump when he spotted it. A cloud buzzing with energy. He rolled to a stop on the next roof and jogged to the edge, clutching it as he looked up in alarm. Not just any cloud. A cloud with blue lightning. One bolt, halfway across the city. He narrowed his eyes and glanced back once more before trying to find where it had struck. Just on the inside shore of the river, a mile in. He shook his head. He knew from which direction he would be coming now. But he would not abandon his position until he got an ok from Stark.

Speaking of which, Hawkeye dialed Tony Stark and looked up at the stars. It rang, buzzing in his ear, and then a click and a huff came through the line.  
"Anyone die yet?"  
"Stark. How is it going?"  
"Not great. Me and Banner have been looking everywhere for Widow and the Captain, but it looks like Spandex is in on a government operation and Widow went back to visit Russia."  
"Leave them a voicemail saying it's Loki and get your asses over here."  
Iron Man paused. "That may just work," he muttered. "I'll have to find the right machines, or people, to leave that message to. But I think I can manage. Why, feeling the heat? Lonely Hawk?"  
"Because I think Loki found a shred of the tesseract's power," Hawkeye shot back. "A whole lightning bolt of it."  
"Oh."  
"Yeah. High-tail it, Tony."  
"Hahaha, got it, alliteration. 'High-tail it Tony.' "  
"Stark."  
"All right, all right. Fine. Hold on just a little while longer. Keep him away from that kid, hear me?"  
"Copy that. Over and out."  
"All you FBI." Tony muttered, and the line went dead.


	29. Click

Carolyn hauled Loki to his feet and slung his arm over her shoulders. "You're a lot of trouble, you know that? Could you at least pretend to care about your health?" She muttered as she half-dragged him out of the gated area and back to the stairs leading to the floor her flat was on. "Look at you. Beaten, bloody, struck by lightning. Jesus, man."

Loki shook his head, grinning through the pain as he climbed the stairs one by one with her by his side. "You're lucky you even lived through it. Any closer and you would've been fried yourself. Its best not to stalk gods."

Carolyn pushed the door open and drew him inside, kicking it shut behind her. The heat of her apartment made her sigh in relief. "That's nice heat." She shook her head. "I was not stalking you. You're a mental case; if you got hit by a car or something, I'd be responsible." She joked.

He laughed. He actually laughed. She helped him sit on a kitchen chair and he smiled at her in amusement. "Why are you so calm? Anything I do or mention should send you running to your government, begging for protection. Especially since I've already threatened to kill you." He pointed out. His eyes slid over her, and his head bobbed slightly, approvingly. "For a human female, you've got a warrior's bravery. But bravery-"

" 'Bravery is the kindest word for stupidity,' " she interrupted his insulting tone and gave him a look as she helped him out of his baked jacket. It smelled like burned popcorn. "Look, I made the decision to help you out and I intend to. You don't seem to be able to stay out of trouble. How could I leave you, huh?" She asked accusingly, whacking his shoulder as she threw aside his crispy jacket. "All these phenomena keep happening - the kind of things that Jane what's-her-face hogged to herself. Everything you do just reminds me what I've involved myself in - and it's not like I can break a promise."

"What promise?" He asked as he shrugged out of his ruined leather vest and his long sleeved tunic, handing them over. She took them in her hands and threw them onto the pile.

"I promised myself I'd help you out, no matter who you were. Until you were ok again." She put her hands on her hips. "Doesn't matter what or why or how. And that's what I'm doing."

"Hmm. Help. Like helping me out of my clothes?" He teased her slyly. He sat shirtless once more, drained but eyes still twinkling with mischief. He was watching her like it was a test, and he would be amused with whatever her reaction decided to be. She smiled at him, gave him a look up and down, and made a 'come here' motion with her finger.

"Yes," she shot back. "All of them. You've ruined every piece."

He chuckled, endlessly entertained, and got up slowly, testing his motion. The energy flowed through him.

"I'll get you something else to wear, smart ass." She winked, and padded to her room, tracking ash across the carpet. Perfect Carolyn feet. Grabbing a button down far too big for her, and old sweatpants from her brother, she brought them back out, and he was unlacing his boots. When he wasn't looking she threw the new shirt around his shoulders and he straightened up, looking at it as he shifted to put his arms through the sleeves. He seemed to be glancing at her legs; fairly exposed, she realized, in only short shorts.

"You're not unnerved at all by a man stripping in your living room. Or is it that you're excited?" Loki asked curiously. Carolyn rolled her eyes as he took off his boots and set them aside as well.

"Says the guy who just got struck by lightning. I'm more unnerved you could be hurt even more now, but hey, at least you're mostly naked." His laughter echoed, and she allowed herself a sheepish smile. At least he sounded normal. Her poor neighbors may be disturbed, but at least he hadn't laughed maniacally. Then they'd really be in trouble.

He grinned at her as he eased out of his thickly padded trousers and tossed them onto the pile, accepting the sweatpants she offered him. Shaking his head, he pulled them on and sighed, sitting back down with a thud. "Well, I hate to admit it, but you may be right about that," he confessed. "I did not expect to feel internally damaged like this. I thought it was only leftover energy from the tesseract, magic I could absorb." He sighed, touching his bare stomach gingerly.

Carolyn stepped up to him and began to button the green and black flannel shirt. His eyes remained in his lap. As her nimble fingers laced the shirt together, she sighed. "See? Without me, you'd be a fried wreck on a freezing night. Aren't you glad you have a babysitter now?"

He shook his head, and looked up at her with tired eyes. She glanced at him, but kept carefully buttoning. His gaze did not waver. In all the time he'd been here he hadn't been well for more than a handful of time - and only then when he was angry. Was it so hard to believe she wanted to protect a god?

"I appreciate both your concern and your assistance." He replied quietly, a sad, sardonic smile on his lips. "If you weren't so bloody persistent, I would be fairly out of luck. How that is, I don't know. But even if you have got a mouth on you, you are helpful."

Carolyn chuckled. "Nice apology. Very royale." She finished buttoning his shirt and smiled at him. "Come on. Back to bed - the only place you seem to be safe in." He looked down at his neatly buttoned shirt, then at her, and his smile softened. They managed to get him to his room. As she left him to rest, she saw him watching her legs again, and shut the door slowly, smiling. She headed down the hall, flushed. Crawling under her own covers to fend off the rest of the night's chill, she drifted off to sleep with red in her cheeks.


	30. In Order To Vamoose

Sherlock's phone call to Mycroft was... interesting. A lot of yelling. Tons. Spooked the neighbors with it. But, after all, they did have a god drop by earlier. People walked by the armrest imbedded in the wall, staring, as Sherlock leaned up against the building, looking at the sky and thinking. He'd hung up with his brother. After a heated argument about him being part of a confidential case now, Mycroft had been put onto Loki's trail, as well as Carolyn. It wasn't much, but after taking the case from the local police he had insisted it all be handled like nothing ever happened. No need to panic the entire city - although, a majority of them had either recognized Loki either at the club or from his sketch on the tele and thought it a joke. Everyone else was entirely confounded as to why feds were sniffing around. Mycroft had cuffed them and sent them in civis to track as he ran diagnostics and started the hunt personally.

"You haven't got to go yourself," Sherlock had protested. "Give someone directions, for god's sake. Use your damn cellular."

"You know they will track it." Mycroft said gravely. "Even this. I have to go, or else someone else will muck it up."

"Mycroft," Sherlock snapped.

"I will hear no more, brother. This is no time for sentiment. We have Hamish to protect."

Wordless, Sherlock looked down the street now, feeling the buzz of anxiety in his very amplified brain. His body would tremble if he did not do something. The cold air helped, but he was freezing, and he had John to look after, and Hamish as well. He took a deep breath and went inside. He slid passed the feds repairing his door and went upstairs, shutting the door firmly behind him as to trap in the heat. It was dark everywhere. Midnight. Almost a quarter passed, now. John was still up, sitting at the desk on his laptop, typing away, and he heard not a peep from Hamish's room.

Walking up behind John, Sherlock leaned forward and slid his hands onto the man's shoulders, drawing in close. John's fingers froze. He let out a breath as Sherlock rested his cold nose on the man's neck.

"You're freezing," John said, reaching back to test one of the man's sharp cheeks. Ice.

"You're blogging." Sherlock countered, his sharp eyes absorbing the words already typed. "I hate to burst any sort of bubble of yours, John, but Mycroft has informed me we're under a special classified case. If you leak this to the public it could disrupt the entire operation. Loads of lackeys read your blog." He added.

John sighed. "Damn. Well, since when do we listen to Mycroft?"

A chuckle escaped the taller man's lips. "Wait on it. If we decide it should be made public, we should decide when this is all over."

"All right. Well, typing helps me think. I'll finish it later." John saved it into a word document and shut his laptop, turning to Sherlock. "You're an ice block. Come on." He got up and brought Sherlock over to the sofa, where he drew off his pea coat and dropped a thick blanket over his shoulders.

After hanging up Sherlock's jacket on a door hook, John sat beside him, taking his hands. They were also freezing, even more so than his cheeks. Sherlock looked at him with a bright blue gaze. His shivering was concealed well.

"This is not over, John." Sherlock said quietly. "Loki is coming back."

John glanced down the hall, then at Sherlock. "What should we do?"

"We shouldn't stay here. We'll let Hamish rest, and pop off tomorrow morning - well, this morning - at first light. Head to the South. Maybe stay at a motel for a few days, under the radar."

"What? Leave? What about Hawkeye and the Avengers?"

"We'll leave Hawkeye a message. With us gone, he'll be able to go after Loki himself. The Avengers can join him when they arrive."

"What if Loki follows us?"

"We'll make sure he doesn't. We'll rent a car with cash, pack only what we need. They'll look for us at Harriet's."

"Harriet!"

"She'll be fine," Sherlock said gently. "We'll be back in time. I swear it."


	31. Suade Shadows

It didn't take long. By the time he heard her slow breathing even out, it was not an hour later. He'd probably helped things along by giving her something to hope and fret over. Figures. Women were easy to usurp - doesn't make any sense why this country had a queen. Loki pushed away the covers and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed. Glancing at the door in the black of the night, his eye was caught by a glowing time keeper on the bed stand. It was blue. A color he had learned to both love and hate simultaneously. 2:15 am. A good a time as any. He rose silently, and dressed, and retrieved spare socks and boots from the closet. Obviously from a sibling, probably about his height and weight. Strange. He wondered about the men briefly as he donned his clothing, in his old room, with his sister asleep soundly in the room down the hall, her pretty head full of thoughts of him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Like a civilian. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he frowned. There was no head covering he would don from this place in order to conceal himself further, but it wouldn't hurt if others observed one. With a trick of green a short black hat with a dented top and a short, curling brim rounded by a green ribbon appeared over his dark hair. He tugged it down over his ears and eyes. A black and green plaid shirt, perfect for his narrow shoulders, over a black turtleneck he'd fished out of a box. Jeans he'd found that were rather constricting, tucked into worn, thin black boots that looked to be in style. He looked like a regular young man with a fair bit of quid. Well, except his spiked hair. With a shimmer, it lay straight down his back, in a pony-tail at the nape of his neck. Now he looked regular.

His body was mended. His spirits were still on their way, but he was confident, and his plan would not be stopped now. His magic was at full-blast, and every moment the magic in his veins screamed to be used. And he would obey - the only order he would follow from anyone. It shimmered blue in his eyes and in his hands as he turned them over slowly, observing the way they pulsated. A flicker of something in his heart made him clench his jaw. He would not fear a thing. An energy. No energy would take his mind. Not again.

The door opened with a creak he was sure did not disturb Carolyn. He stepped out into the cold and shut the door behind him, embracing it as he tipped his hat down over his eyes and glided out into the night. It was not long until he found the roads they'd taken. He shied away from the bright street lights, making an effort to be casual. A troupe of women passed without incident. Their heels clicked away as he lifted his head to glance about. A handful of children sat on a cement stoop exchanging day-old doughnuts given out for free at the bakery around the bend. A man leaned out his window to smoke and the tele was heard behind him talking about the weather. It rambled on about rain until Loki had walked around the corner, leaving the voices to fade behind him. Cars passed. People, as well. No one pointed him out. No one held expectations in their eyes. No one held hatred, jealousy.

He walked faster.

A knock on the window. Two more. Gentle, hesitant. Hamish got up from the corner of moonlight he'd been reading by - slim, in his own quarters - and threw his book aside. He leaned on the window and looked up into nervous green eyes. His heart took off like an aero plane. Fumbling with the window latch, he pushed it open gently and leaned back as his father poked his head in.

"Anyone call for a midnight stroll?" The grin on the man's face was infectious.

"You came back." Hamish whispered breathlessly.

Loki nodded. "I wanted to see you again, before I left."

"What will you do?"

"Take you out, just the two of us. Dress warmly," he added, as the chilly wind brought in a draft. "It's biting out here."

Hamish bobbed his head obediently and scrambled to put a jumped on over his nightshirt. He struggled into trousers and socks, and pulled on his loafers. Grabbing his jacket and a scarf, he went to the window and Loki reached inside, lifting him into his arms.

"Coat on," the man insisted, and the boy slid his thin arms into the sleeves. Loki gently wrapped the scarf around his neck and smiled. "That's my boy. Now come. We have much to discuss." Gathering the boy in his arms, he leaped effortlessly from the gutter he'd been hanging on and drifted through the night sky, pony tail flying. As his feet touched a chimney, he kicked off once more, and passed quickly over a crumpled form between rooftops; a body in the alleyway.


	32. Genius Banner

"Dammit, dammit, sonofabitch-"

"What?"

"Black Widow is gone, and Captain Spandex's secretary hasn't even heard from him."

"Maybe we can get that girl that likes him to tell us where they are."

"Banner you're a genius."

"Yes, I know."

"I just like reminding you."

"Tony, you made me a name tag that says, 'Genius Banner.' "

"So?"

"Never mind. Just get the girl on the phone, would you?" Doctor Bruce Banner sighed and went across Tony's lab to go back to work. Ever since the Avengers split up, Tony had let him stay with him and work on a serum to be cured of the green thing inside of him. With nowhere to go, and very little reason to keep running, Tony had promised him protection and a roof over his head while he worked.

Stark, who was viciously typing on his hologram keyboard, had his lips pursed like a thoughtful kid, his hazel eyes bright. He'd been working on managing his business, changing their vision from weapons into peace keeping. It was a pain in the rear end to be honest, but it had to be done. Tony was done with weapons and war threatening what they had fought so hard to keep out of Loki's clutches.

Speaking of Loki, they had to high-tail it, because that crazy murderer was strutting around England like he owned the place. Or, at least, like he wasn't a wanted fugitive. Which he definitely was. That was another thing.

"Where the hell is Thor?" Stark blurted, irritated. "This is his brother we're rushing to recapture. Shouldn't he be leading the charge?"

"He went home. He probably thought Loki got transferred into a different part of Asgard," Banner called, his voice echoing from the other side of the lab. His graying dark hair shimmered as he turned to Tony, holding a test tube, squinting from behind a plastic mask. "Or Jotunheim. That ice planet."

"Yeah," Tony muttered, scrolling furiously for that girl's number. It was here somewhere. "AH! Bingo, bingo. Found it. Kristen." He dialed it and paced the floor nervously as it rang. The ringing ran out, and the voicemail hit. Tony swore.

'Hi, this is Kristen! Leave your name and number please!'

BEEP.

"Hi, Kristen? I'm Tony. Er, Tony Stark - look, listen, we're missing two of our best Avengers, and no one can get a hold of them. I know they're in that big mission thing, but we have a really, really big problem, and we're gonna need them for this. Ok? Uh, call me back on this number. Bye." He hung up the phone with a snap and stalked the lab angrily.

Banner, who tossed his mask aside and sighed in defeat, turned and crossed his arms. "So, who does that leave?"

Tony glanced up at him hesitantly. "You and Hawkeye," he muttered.

Banner gave him an even look. "And do you think we could do it, just the two of us?"

Tony bit his knuckle and said nothing. This was bad, this was very bad. Outside the sun shone so bright that it literally sparkled off the ocean, and here they were cinched for time and facing a mad god from another planet, who was eight times as strong as a regular guy without his magic. He'd almost destroyed New York. They had no idea what he had now - and Tony still had portal nightmares.

"We're screwed," he whispered, and Banner shook his head.

"We're not screwed. Get Hawkeye on the phone. See if he can get in touch with Natasha." Banner shrugged out of his lab coat and hung it up. "We'll find them, Tony. Don't worry."

As he went upstairs to sit on the balcony on a lawn chair and work on his theorem, Tony paced some more, and went to the window, staring out and biting his thumb. He couldn't fight anymore. He'd promised Pepper. He was a hero, an Avenger. But not anymore. He swore again and vanished into the depths of his lab, a dark cloud following him closely overhead.


	33. Stars and Sky

Hamish looked up at the night sky, his pale blue eyes bright with wonder. The breeze turned his nose and ears red, his cheeks the same ruddy color. He tried to count the stars and knew at once there were far too many. They were beautiful like jewels, sparkling in a black satin sky. He drew his scarf closer around him and hid his nose behind it.

They were on top of a bakery shop on a hill, overlooking the bay and the Ferris wheel and Big Ben. Loki had leaned back against a Chimney and gathered his son in his lap.

"Daddy," Hamish piped up. "Why is the sky blue in the day and black at night, with all those stars?"

His real father sat behind him, his legs on either side of the small boy as they huddled for warmth in the winter night. Loki. His green eyes watched the child patiently, warmth in them. His arms were wrapped tightly around the boy, holding him close to shield him from the cold. Leaning forward, he leaned his cheek against Hamish's hair and cast his eyes to the heavens.

"There is water in the air. When its about to rain, or humid, you can feel it," he explained. "But you can't see it. During the day, the water takes the light from the sun and reflects it. Each droplet bends light into a rainbow of color. The atmosphere becomes blue when all the droplets reflect one color. At night, the moonlight isn't strong enough to do that. That, my boy, is what space really looks like."

Hamish frowned. "Droplets hold rainbows?"

Chuckling Loki loosened one of his arm from around the boy to stroke his black curls, tucking them behind his ear. "No, dear boy. Water bends light. All around in its belly. Then it picks which one is dominant and lets it out again. Blue is just the strongest."

"Oooh." Hamish was still confused, but he let it be. He was just happy to hear his daddy's voice. Then he remembered.

Turning to look up at him, he bit his lip. "Do I have a mommy?" He asked quietly.

Wide eyes, a hurt shock. By that look on his daddy's face he figured no, and turned back to stare at his hands in his lap. He knew it would be too good to be true. Three daddys and a mom, a real mom.

"You did," came the soft answer. "At one point. And she was lovely. Hair as fair as yellow silk, and a laugh like the sound of bells."

"Did she love me?"

"Of course she did. But when you were born, we could not be together, and that broke her heart. She couldn't raise you alone. So she sent you here, to be looked after by your dads."

"Why didn't you take me?"

"Your mother also sent you here without telling anybody, so even after I searched for you, I found nothing and thought you gone forever."

Hamish leaned back and curled up against Loki's chest. He looked up at the sideways smile he saw there, on a pale face so similar to his own. "Why can't you stay?"

"Because I am not from this place."

"Neither am I, though."

"True. But here, you are known to be one of these people. I am not."

"But I'm not, not really."

"Hamish," the man said, touching his cheek. "This place is where you belong. To grow up strong and brave, and to live a long, simple life full of new things. And I belong up there, in the stars."

Hamish went quiet. He wanted dearly to be with him forever, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. A tear slipped down his cheek, but his daddy drew him up and wiped it away. But he could not so easily mend the aching in his heart.


	34. Gods

Planet, after planet. Forests and mountains, deserts and glaciers. A flash of thunder and lightning and a blonde warrior would fly from the sky, roaring his anger to the skies. Racers cowered and quivered in their huts or skyscrapers. They hid their children and looked to the stars and wondered why his wrath was turned upon them. The lands themselves shuddered with fear.  
When Thor was angered, it was clear to all the worlds. His heart had already been broken over his brother's betrayal, and now he was lost, without punishment. Another trick. The young god would not get away so easily.

Thor had been feverishly going through the portals looking for his brother ever since he had vanished on the way over to Asgard. He'd run rampant across his entire planet, calling Loki's name so it echoed against the rocks and made entire cliffs crumble, and then went to Jotunheim. There he did the same. The wasteland lay open and barren, frozen, but unyielding.  
The other planets were next. He flew through them, hammer in hand, stopping every now and then to make a crater and demand to see the traitor. The villagers or creatures would slink to the edge of it and peer inside, only to be snatched. Then he usually went on a tirade over the whereabouts of the traitor. If they had no idea what he was talking about he usually strangled someone until the situation was resolved, and then they sent him on his way because, no, no one had seen his brother. It was quite a long process.

At any rate, now Thor was exhausted, and he'd gone through almost every planet. The last one was the one they'd come from already. He cast his eyes to the star and picked out the earth's solar system. But why? Out there? He had tried controlling the humans with the tesseract's power. But it was gone now, vanished. Why stay on earth? To blend in, disappear? No. No one like him could simply disappear. He would always be pulling tricks, trying to rule the world. Scowling, Thor whipped his hammer and flew again, headed for the gate. Time to pay Jane another visit.  
He crashed onto the bridge and demanded to go to Earth. "I still have time. If I can recapture him before his magic has fully returned-"

"You've been at it for days, Thor," the gatekeeper had said quietly. "You must rest. Loki is at full power now. Will you be a match for him in this state?"  
"I was always the stronger sibling," Thor snapped. "Let me through! I must find my brother and make him pay the punishment for his crimes!"  
"Thor," came a voice from behind him and he whirled to see his mother standing on the bridge. Her long brown hair was plaited neatly, her gown a soft gold. Her dark eyes were sad. "Heimdall is right. Loki will not show mercy as you do. He is lost, and powerful, and that is a dangerous combination."  
Thor bowed his head, and his shoulders felt at last the great burden exhaustion that was on his body.  
"Come and heal my son," his mother said, holding out her hand. "Come and rest. We will fuel you to recapture your brother."  
They could both tell it pained her to say so. Thor looked up at Heimdall, then to his mother. "All right. But I leave at first light," he replied. Then, walking to his mother, he took her arm and led her back to the castle, casting a thankful glance back at Heimdall. The gatekeeper bowed respectfully and turned back to his duties, casting his eyes to the stars. Loki was back in power now. But who was that with him?


	35. Family

The streets were emptied. The cold was still as death. Hamish was bathed in lamplight, gazing at the stars. His pale blue eyes were heavy with hope, his rosy cheeks and nose an indication of his frozens state. Loki put his arm around the boy and lead him along. He was towering, tall, much taller now than Hamish had thought before. Of course, he was a god. Gods were always much taller. He gaze up at his father and the man's shadowed face. There was a darkness there. He felt it. He was a bad man, his father. But why? How? He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

The night closed in on the pair; their footsteps absorbed by the cold, their shoulders hunched against it, lit by the empty street's signs. Neon flickered as they passed. Stray cats scrambled back through a hole in the fences to hide.

Suddenly, Loki stopped. Hamish took another step before realizing it and looked back at his father expectantly. "What is it?" He asked.  
"I can go no farther," his father answered. "Go. Return to your fathers." He knelt, and Hamish turned to him, confused. "If destiny permits, we will meet again, my son." He reached out to cup his son's face, and the hand was hot, warm in this chill. Then he was a wisp in the air - nothing but a presence lost, and the warmth was gone. Hamish stared after him, into the night. A car passed him on the road. The silence was deafening. Then, turning, he carried the burden of the evening they'd had together on his tiny shoulders as he began to walk back home. It was about three blocks off and around the corner. Not much further.

A large burst of air and a deafening sound drew out of the clouds and seemed to come right at him. Whirling, Hamish gasped and began to run as quickly as he could muster. He tore through the streets, dodging garbage cans and streetlights, his feet pounding pavement. The noise grew ever closer despite his efforts. He was thrown into a panic, and his body pushed for more speed, and speed up he did. He flew around a corner and ran up the next street in a flash. His fists swung back and forth, carrying him forward, and he gasped for air to fill his tiny lungs, dispelling clouds of mist into the night air which he broke through trying to escape his coming captor. He could feel his heartbeat in his hands, in his chest, in his head.

Then the noise behind him was impossibly close, and cold hands snatched him out of his run in mid-stride, causing him to yelp. He was scooped up against a cold form and he looked up in alarm to see a great robot hero gazing down at him.  
"Iron Man!" He gasped, chest still heaving laboriously.  
"You got it, kid. Now, what are you doing out here?" The maroon robot replied.  
"I needed some air," Hamish managed.  
A chuckle came from the suit. "Out a two-story window?"  
Hamish turned to see 221B coming up. There were cops and more people in costume and his daddy John sitting on the stoop with his face in his hands, and his daddy Sherlock talking adamantly to the authorities.  
"Oh no," Hamish whispered. The Iron Man did a smooth landing quite near the cars and everyone looked up to watch him, Sherlock's mouth agape.  
"Hamish!" He said sharply, and ignored the cops, pushing through them to kneel and wrap his boy in his arms. "Dear god, where the bloody hell did you go? We thought..." He hesitated stonily, but Hamish only shook his head.  
"I just wanted to be alone. I couldn't sleep," he lied. He wouldn't give his father away.  
"Nice try, lad, but we both know you can't climb on rooftops of take out FBI archer guards," Sherlock said gently, and Hamish looked devastated. "Come, go see daddy. He practically bawled his eyes out when we opened your door and you'd left."  
Speechless, disappointed, Hamish turned his attention to his other dad. Sherlock and Iron Man spoke in a low voice as he rushed off.

"He took out Hawkeye like he was nothing," Iron Man muttered.  
"And then he took my boy, like it was nothing," Sherlock retorted. "As I predicted. He was in danger for hours. And you decide to pop in now?"  
"Look buddy, we don't have to be here," Tony snapped.  
"But this is your mess, you wouldn't leave it for someone else to clean up. Too prideful."  
"I could knock your head off-"  
"Tony." Came a calming, warning voice, and Banner climbed out of a taxi and walked up to them, hands shoved in his pockets. His cloudy eyes were dark. "Look, we did what we could. We can't find our other team members. It's just us. We did what we could, but they're on other missions. We're alone."  
Sherlock covered his face with his hands and sighed. Taking one and shoving it in his pocket, he smoothed the other behind his neck. "Is there nothing you can do?"  
"Oh, no. We can do plenty. But he's put Hawkeye in a bad state, my temper controls mine and Tony is... well, lets just say Pepper grounded him and he snuck out the window, leaving it wide open."  
"BANNER!"  
"Stark, these people need the truth."  
"I would get it either way." Sherlock interjected.  
"You are a wise guy, jesus." Banner put up his hands and both men cooled their jets, glaring at each other. "Look, we're here to help. We need to talk to your son. He's the only other one who saw the lightning."  
Sherlock bobbed his head, breaking his glare to look over at his boy. His eyes cracked their icy shell and melted, gazing warmly at the sight of them.

Hamish had walked into a freight train. John grabbed him up and walked back to the stoop, taking shuddering breaths, his face glistening with shed tears. He'd checked every inch of Hamish to make sure he was ok, asked him a million questions, most of which he'd only answered with, 'I'm fine,' and was now holding him on his lap and hugging him tightly.  
"We were so worried," John whispered.  
"I know daddy, I'm sorry," Hamish said gently, reaching up and touching John's rough face with small hands. "Don't cry, please."  
John laughed and sniffed, looking at him with warm eyes. "No promises."  
Hamish smiled at him. "Everything's going to be ok. I promise."  
John bobbed his head, wrapping Hamish's scarf more tightly around him, so the chill was blocked out. "Yes, I'm sure it will be."

Banner and Stark exchanged a glance. Sherlock had never been so harsh with anyone as he was being with them, and yet they could clearly see why. He was a family man. A father. A husband. A protector. He was entirely in love with his family, like any good man should be. It was admirable - especially since, as a high-functioning sociopath, he had managed to garner one at all. Stark had never seen such a happy genius. Not ever. He looked at the ground.  
"Mr. Holmes?" He cleared his throat.  
Sherlock drew out of his gazing and looked between the scientists. The Avengers. "You can interview Hamish. In my home. Right here. End of story," he replied. "We'll make you coffee and provide you with local lodgings when needed. I'll send Lestrade's men back home." With that he turned and pushed through the policemen to a gray-haired man he seemed to speak to with a hint of affection, and the two heroes looked at each other.  
"London is... eventful," Banner commented.  
"Yeah. Gods do that to places," Tony muttered.


	36. Coming to a Close

The morning came, warm and welcoming, full of freshly fallen snow. It covered the ground and the cars. Carolyn got up to check on him, and saw him standing by the front window, blindingly bright with morning sunshine, and knew at once he hadn't slept. She felt it wafting off him. He appeared to be sharply dressed, fedora and all. He'd been out. Maybe last night. Maybe all night, and she'd had no idea. Hair up in a messy bun, dark eyes hesitant, she walked to him through the warm carpet of the living room and put her hand on his shoulder. He seemed to shift under her touch, almost to wince, and the illusion faded. He was wearing her brother's old clothes. His arm was so warm. She watched as he cast her a glance while his eyes dilated in the light flooding him. He had the faint scent of a sort of natural cologne men sometimes had, dust, and city smoke. Yes, he'd been out all night.

They didn't exchange any words but only parted ways. Drawing into the kitchen, Carolyn began a healthy breakfast cooking on the stove and chopping fruit neatly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him slowly sink onto the couch, his back to her. She had never seen him like this. The emotion just poured over the intense dam he had built in his heart. He bowed his head and put his face in his hands, his shoulders hunched. A darkness was in him. The darkness she'd become familiar with, of course, but now it was... angry. Furious, even. And it was unquenchable. She shied from it now, more than she had before, and moved with the caution of a mouse about a panther.

"Does it snow?" She asked finally, shattering the silence. Slender hands worked gently as she drew the seeds from the orange slices, eyes sliding over to observe him.  
"Snow?" He grunted in reply.  
"In Asgard," she replied with clarity. Weakness would only be preyed on. Right now, he needed to be distracted. Or else he'd kill something she supposed.

A pause stretched. He hadn't moved, but now he did, shifting to slouch and lean back, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. In shifting he did shift from anger to depression. The feel of his emotion changed; it molted. "Sometimes, yes," he mumbled. "Sometimes a brilliant coat of white will grace our steps. But not so little as you have here." He lifted his hand to stare at. "And not as much as Jotunheim. There it is always cold. Always frozen. Frost giants wander the grounds: skin of the deepest, darkest blue; hair of the blackest night; and eyes blood red. I touched the tesseract, and it showed one to me. I touched the tesseract, and the real illusion fell away." His voice was weary, quiet.

"Wait," Carolyn breathed. "Jotunheim?"  
He nodded barely. "I am a child of Jotunheim."  
She gaped.  
"Thor's father Odin took me in after the war where the peace between worlds began," he continued, oblivious. "He promised me equal birthright to the throne - a wolf he dressed in sheep's clothing. Then when Thor was unworthy, he refused my offer to take it in his place." He closed his eyes. "He was a liar, and a killer, and a damn old fool. And he was not... my father..."

Carolyn wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to him, tucking her arms together. Tilting her head, a sad smile graced her lips as she saw his chest rise and fall evenly, his weary eyes shut. He was asleep. Bowing her head, she tucked her bangs behind her ear and put a pause on breakfast. They'd eat when he woke. Taking an apple she bit into it and drew a blanket over his lap before heading back to her room. Pausing in the doorway, she drew the apple from her teeth and gave him a once-over. If he'd been a human man he would be the hottest boy on the block. Of course, he was damn hot anyway, but he was a god. So much death and tragedy on his shoulders. Looking away, she took a bite from the apple. He would leave. For good this time. She knew, this had to happen sooner or later. She'd gotten this long to admire him. He really was a beautiful thing. Part of her really wished she'd been able to sketch him, even - but he wouldn't have tolerated that. Especially the way she wanted to draw him.

Closing the bedroom door most of the way, she went to her bed and sat down amidst a hoard of papers and books. Picking up her pencil, she continued her calculations, in waiting to placate the sleeping giant on her living room couch.


	37. Getting Warmer

Hawkeye was in intensive care, and had been since they'd located him in the alleyway five hours ago. No wonder Hamish could have gotten out so easily. Loki had been merciless. The morning had come with that horror, and then the argument of time had broken out. Loki was getting stronger every moment they stuck close to home base and played it safe. It gave him so much opportunity to recharge - and Sherlock wouldn't have any more of it. But Tony and Banner couldn't find the apartment Hamish had spotted alone, so he had run after them. Sherlock had just up and grabbed his coat, abandoning the both of them here at the flat. Tony had practically baited his genius out the door and Banner had rushed off to keep them company. With a huff the army man pushed aside the curtain and glanced nervously about.

"He's weak, John," Sherlock had said firmly. "If we find him before he recovers, there will be no danger for you both."  
John had mumbled some protests, and been treated to a kiss. "Don't worry John," the silvery voice had softened. "I have two superheroes to flank me. Besides, you are the best shot."

So, here he was, alone with Hamish.  
"Daddy!"  
He turned in surprise to see his son standing in the doorway to the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess, grinning.  
"Yes, Hamish?" John asked in surprise.  
"I made you tea," his son said excitedly.  
"YOU WHA-" Rushing into the kitchen, he walked into a large mess of tea packets and water on the floor - but on the stove, clean and spotless, was a boiling pot of water. And the counter - normally clogged with dishes and experiments - was also spotless. "How did you manage...?"  
"Well I know when you're worried about dad you always pace," Hamish said, oblivious. "And I know tea always calms you down."  
John turned to him and sighed, shaking his head and smiling. "That was a very nice thought," he said gently. "I could use a cuppa. But after, we really should mop the floor."  
He agreed to let the boy pour them both a cup, which was also a mess, but it made them laugh as they jumped away from puddles of hot tea. With the cups finally filled they settled on the couch watching TV, and John glanced out the window, hoping dearly Sherlock and the scientists had been right.

* * *

Striding as quickly as possible, Sherlock got out of the cab and sprinted down the sidewalk. Tony ran after and Banner struggled to pay the cab driver before following. "The lightning strike Hamish pointed out was approximately 33 degrees north west from the abandoned cart factory on Penny street. If we cross Wesley and Right, we should find the apartment complex we're looking for."  
"Apartments?" Tony asked, jogging to keep up. Banner was sighing and bringing up the rear.  
"Where else can you conceal a guest without neighbors taking notice? They're cheap and affordable only to hard working middle class, which are either tending their kids or fornicating, they don't have time to query the occupants of your home. And the few young people who can afford them are either in college or downing their parents money every night until they forget all their problems."  
Tony stopped running. "Who is this guy?" He asked aloud, panting, and Bruce caught up, grabbing his shoulder. "The Great Sherlock Holmes," he said extravagantly, and nodded to Tony before continuing to run. Stark groaned and caught up.

"All right, all right! But at least tell me how long til we get there?" Tony barked.  
"We're here." Sherlock replied, and they both almost ran into him as he stopped short, squinting across the street into the parking lot of the apartment complex.  
"Whoa, uh," Tony said, glancing around. "All right. Now can you find which one he's in?"  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and started across the street, his mind filling with facts and leading him like a blood hound through the throng of cars. He studied a few in turn then spun on his heel, heading up the steps to the apartment doors. Tony drew up beside him slowly, and Banner watched from the bottom of the stairs.  
Sherlock stopped in front of one. His eyes dilated, his voice snatched. Tony, breathless beside him, looked from him to the door and back again. He turned and made a motion to Banner, who nodded. Then, leaning around to the window, he slowly peered inside.


	38. So Hot You're Singed

Carolyn was brushing out her hair, about to check on Loki, dressed in an oversized gray sweater and black leggings that hugged long legs. Cloudy dark eyes loomed back at her, the room like a dark cloud around her frame of her soft blonde hair. Her brightly colored socks slid along the hardwood floor under the table as she prepared herself to meet his anger again, building up bravado. He was going to be a tempest for a while - losing your son forever was a huge thing. Especially for him, he had been planning to just take him by force. That poor kid would've never gotten over that break from Sherlock and the detective's lover. They were very attached to him, according to the press, and he was always smiling, always glad to be with his dads.

But what would this mean for Loki? He was still without his child, after realizing he actually had one. That must've crushed him. And a crushed god is not safe, especially a god of chaos. After all that past excitement over a child; all that love, and hope, only to be told your offspring was dead and your love gone - that does something to a person. What could she do? What did he want her to do? He'd never even admit he was injured, let alone give her any indications. She'd have to follow her gut. Sighing, she put her hands in her lap and looked down at her hairbrush. Why did she feel like she needed to help him? Was it because he was alone? Hated? He was a killer, after all. Driven by power, but a murderer in cold blood. And she was no prison counselor. A brilliant Physicist, ignored by society, jaded by loss, still melting at a handsome face and conflicted green eyes. She put down her hairbrush and got up, throwing a sweater over her calculations. Whatever she could do, she would. He needed that.

She emerged from her room at last, and was alarmed to see an empty living room. The blanket she had covered him in was tossed over the couch, and the door latch was thrown, her house echoingly empty. She ran to the door and pushed it open, stepping outside as she glanced about in panic. Gone again! He was an emotional time bomb, where was he now?! She went to the top of the stairs, shivering in the cold, and a cry drew her attention. Throwing on boots, she ran from the apartment, flying down the stairs and down the street, her heart racing.

Not a block down the road she spotted them. Loki facing off with Sherlock Holmes, while some guy with sunglasses and spiked hair was shouting at a man in his forties who was grabbing his head with both hands.

"Give me your best shot," Sherlock barked, his voice sharp. His blue eyes were wild, his hair unruly from running, as his cheeks and panting indicated as well. He was even wearing that coat of his and everything.

"You mock me," Loki laughed. "Thinking I cannot take out a mere mortal with my illusion alone."

Carolyn ducked behind a car and peered over, gaping. They'd found him! Whoever they were, anyway. They didn't look like the police, or much of anything at all, but Sherlock was a pretty well stocked guy in the fighting and, well, everything area. So he may pose a threat.

All of a sudden, Sherlock began thrashing, jerking his head and blinking as if he were trying to see through fog, and then a storm, and then a brick wall. He fought something invisible and Loki's laughter echoed. "You think you are a god," the darker haired man sneered. "You are an arrogant, mewling quim. And I will make you kneel."

Sherlock began to walk forward, a scowl slashed into his normally exotic, handsome face. "Every disguise is a self-portrait," he retorted. "And every image is a satire of its artist."

Loki's sneer tugged into a snarl, and he took a step back, putting out his hand. Sherlock struggled harder, his face a grim set of determination, steely rage thinly concealed. He finally let out a cry and lunged at the god, tackling him to the ground. They then engaged in a wrestling match, in which Sherlock was winning.

"Banner!" The spiky haired man snapped. Carolyn squinted. He kinda looked like Tony Stark, of Stark Enterprises. That Iron Man guy. But it couldn't be, not really. I mean the Avengers had five guys, well four and a girl, right? He was grabbing the other older man's shoulders. "Banner, we need him, we need him now!"

"No," Banner shot back angrily. "He'll destroy everything!"

With an exasperated groan, 'Tony' did a spin on his heel and went back to shaking the other man. "You can control it! This is not who you are, Banner, it's just a part of you!"

"Tony, please don't." The man gasped.

Tony! Carolyn smacked her forehead. It was them! Oh my god, it was Iron Man and the Hulk! Loki was in big trouble now!

Sherlock threw Loki aside, and got to his feet, his lips curled back in a snarl. He drew himself up to his full height, which was not as tall as the god on the ground, but over the other shorter men he looked like an infuriated giant. "I will make you wish you had never come near my boy," he said cold, voice quivering, and began to advance upon the groaning god.

Loki pushed blood off his chin and got to his feet. He took a fierce stance, flicking both of his wrists, a Cheshire grin taking over his face as both his hands exploded into blue lightning. "Try me, mortal," he spat, his body bathed in the glow of his power.

Sherlock came to an abrupt halt, the weight of Loki's power heavy in his eyes. His shock was brief, though, as he took to just standing his ground. Loki cackled and flung his arm, and Sherlock jumped just in time to avoid it, rolling on the asphalt. The lightning crack singed the hair on Tony's chin and he let out a cry. "BANNER!" He raged.

With a strangling roar, Banner began to turn green, and began to grow alarmingly fast. His clothing began to tear loudly, his hair becoming unkempt and dark green, his entire body rippling with impossible huge muscle. Carolyn squeaked in fear; not for her, but for the green-eyed killer who had just been rounded on by a monster eight times his size.


	39. Hotter Still

The minute we looked in the window, even before we saw anything, I knew we were in deep crud. After all I had left behind my suit and Banner was busy struggling between destroyer and pacifist. Not to mention this detective guy was a nut job. Both of them either couldn't or wouldn't fight, and me stuck here with a vow to Pepper that I was done with this for good. And this was going to be impossible without me breaking that vow. I just can't get a break.

See, we all were up at the door Sherlock had picked, and we lean in. Thinking, you know, maybe he's got an accomplice wandering around inside. Maybe he's hidden. Maybe the detective was wrong (he would murder me for that, and no one would ever find the body). But nope. It's him all right. And Loki is not only inside, but he's right there. That's not the best part. Not only is he right there, but he's staring right at us, with that furious look Pepper gives me when I forget to do the dishes. I don't know how he knew - probably that detective guy's loud mouth, I don't know - but he didn't smash the window or anything. Banner grabbed me and deer-stalker guy and dragged us off the porch, at a run. Both of us stumbled down the steps in shock. Loki opened the door and stepped calmly out onto the porch, shutting it quietly behind him. Then he came after us.

We retreated pretty far, drawing him away from the complex, and my mind was buzzing. Of course we hadn't planned on attacking now, just locating him, but we should've planned a bit more before we rushed off. This was gonna suck for us.

"You," Sherlock had said, once we'd all stopped, frozen, staring at each other in the street. He had been the angriest I'd seen him since yelling at us. "You are his father. But we are his parents."

Banner and I just looked at him. Loki was a stone.

Sherlock brushed us off and glared at the god. "We changed his diapers. We fought his fears, made him pure. Without you, we have brought him up in rich mind and strong heart," he said in a deadly voice. "The only way you could claim him is by body. He is bound to us. He will always, and forever, be our son."

Loki rolled his shoulders. I willed my suit to come to me, as fast as possible, and thought I heard it demolishing buildings on its way over.

"Mind and soul, that boy is a product of my creation - my genetics, and my greatness. In a heartbeat I could will him to forget you and he would serve me," Loki retorted.

"He would not," Sherlock spat. "He knows what you are. Despite what you have said and done - he feels it, it's in his heart. You gave him that as well."

"I can decimate you and his memory of you entirely!" Loki roared.

"Give me your best shot," the detective barked.

But that you already read. And I hate repeating myself. So, now after some convincing yelling Banner went Hulk and Loki apparently is a Thor copycat. I thought he didn't like lightning, anyway? Huh.

With a massive roar, Banner shook the houses, and the god, to the core. He rounded on Loki, towering muscle and snorting anger. Loki's face was absolutely priceless. If I'd had a camera, it would have been all over magazines and TV everywhere, all over the world. It was hilarious. Then he let out a snarl and aimed both hands at the green guy, letting his blue lightning rip. It hit the big man like a train, knocking him back.

"I will not be foiled by you again, creature," Loki shouted.

I grabbed the detective and shook him. "We're about to destroy half of London," I hissed. "You can't defend yourself against this, not against us. Run! Sherlock, run!" I shouted. The detective looked at me wildly, and then nodded, taking off at a sprint. Back to his lover and his son.

I turned to see the Hulk grabbing for Loki, who dove out of the way and flung more lightning at him, which missed and hit the apartment complex. But as soon as Loki realized he had missed, I could have sworn he looked scared. Hardly a millisecond before it was gone again, but it was there, I swear. I looked to the complex, which was aflame. While I was waiting I figured I'd have to settle with being a normal hero.

Running at top speed, flying up the steps to the complex, I banged on all the doors, yelling for them to get out. Behind me, Loki and the hulk raged, still doing battle as I herded the innocents to safety. Also yelling to move was a blonde girl on the other side of the crowd. Tall for a girl, maybe my height, but very young. Long beautiful legs, pretty face, in a sweater and leggings. She was helping along the older people, pushing her short cropped hair out of her face. She had a scientist's frown. I know it well. As we got the crowd to go down the street, I pulled her aside.

"Hey, do I know you?" I asked curiously. She was acting rather brave for a kid in her early twenties, like she'd seen this before. Her eyes widened and she just shook her head. But a glance over my shoulder gave away a bit more than she intended. I caught worry, and love. Turning, I spotted Loki, looking further down the street where Hulk was probably running at him. But he wasn't in sight. So it made it pretty clear who she was worried about. "You were the one harboring him." I blurted, staring at her. And the way she looked at me could have cut me into pieces if looks could kill. I gave her a once-over. With him in danger, she wasn't going anywhere. I'd deal with her later.  
"Make sure they're safe." I said, and turned to see my suit whistling through the sky. Taking a running leap, I jumped into it, all the parts slamming together. The Hulk's cry of rage let me know I was just in time, and I stomped on my jets, flying at Loki and pinning him to the ground as Hulk approached. The god thrashed and cried out but it was too late. Hulk grabbed him and flung him as hard as he could, until he vanished from sight.

"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!" I ranted. "WE HAD HIM!" Hulk shrugged indifferently, and I groaned. We then took off across the city in search of our lost punching bag, and I looked back to see the blonde get in her car and follow us.


End file.
